#the unsurprisingly result of this is that I have been exhausted and stressed to the max

[waugh-bao]

[anxiety-thyme]

I'm going like live journal or something today I guess?

Health stuff.

I've been having a real rough time lately. My physical health has not been great. I have gall stones. Which is great because I have none of the risk factors except for being a woman in my early 40's (nearly, I'm only 39), and having a sometimes very stressful job. I'm 100% aware that my anxiety makes it a bit more stressful than it probably is.

I'm predominantly vegetarian, only eating fish sometimes when I go out to eat. I've been vegetarian since 2016, no recent diet changes.

I exercise, maybe not the most but I go out and walk 3-5 times a week.

My cholesterol is healthy. In my early 20's I had high cholesterol (hereditary) and after trying a ton of different things changed my diet to what it is now. It's been in healthy range since ~2017.

I'm a healthy weight again, see above. I haven't always been but the move to WFH was actually good for me in a way that it wasn't for most of my co-workers.

Anyway, this has been going on since May? June? I finally got in to see a doctor about a month ago. Between work trips, buying a house, moving to a new city, and the pcp shortage it took forever to find someone in (ish) my new town.

After an ultra sound and my doc confirmed what it was he told me to 'change my diet' and see if it went away, which just? His diet change was a recommendation to remove eggs. I have eggs maybe once or twice a week. Not often at all. After a week I finally reached out to him to ask how long I'm supposed to wait.

He said if I was still having issues we should schedule another test. I don't remember what it was but my appointment is next week.

Here's the thing. I have not had a decent night sleep in months. I usually wake up in the middle of the night to sit on the floor in the bathroom while my body tries to expel what isn't in there. Nothing comes up.

I'm so exhausted. I know the test is just a week away and hopefully I can convince the doc to just pull the thing out but honestly waiting another feels impossible.

Unsurprisingly, the mental health isn't doing super great? I've cried more in the past few weeks than I think I have in years (not counting crying because of media of course).

I guess this is your regular reminder to fight for the healthcare you need and not just say 'okay' when you are in your doctor's office without asking follow-up questions.

I was under the impression during the visit to go over the results that it takes multiple episodes before you should consider surgery but after speaking to my mother-in-law I found out that she had one episode and her doc yanked that shit out.

And - even if I had all of the risk factors he still should've taken progressive action considering how long I've been in pain and exhibiting symptoms.

/end rant I guess.

[shyflameweasel]

Calm before the Storm

So I guess having this poor reader endure all this is now gonna be a series I guess.

Something was happening in Nevada and whatever it was was spilling out those Things into the rest of America. At least...that’s what you thought. (A tip from that clown) You had no idea how long you were kept at the hospital, both for care and for the disappearance of seven people. There was no suspect aside from you, so what else were they going to think? (”You have evidence one” cajoling “they have to believe that.” “No they won’t” the other hissing they’ll think you’re ranting and raving, it’ll make you vulnerable. Even if they take the film only six died from the clown, while the last...” They’ve been getting louder since...)

They had you on some medication, some antibiotics for your arm and something to help you sleep at night. When you closed your eyes you could still see bloody sky’s and grey wastes. The screams and laughter bounced around your head accompanied by breaking bones and meaty rips. Iron and sickeningly sweet decay suffocated you. Clawing hands enraged faces-

Maybe it would be good to ask for something for the memories.

You had some internet access during your stay. Nobody from home had come to see you (Did they know about the case? Or did your isolation drive them away?) You had looked to see if a ‘Tricky the clown’ was real. All you got were one or two people (with arms and faces and beating hearts). You looked up ‘grunts’, and that took you nowhere helpful. ‘Gray people’ gave you aliens unsurprisingly, a few creepypastas, local legends (which led nowhere) and it trying to correct the search to ‘gay people’. (The you of before would have chuckled, the you of now can’t bring themselves to try). Anything pertaining to ‘faceless monsters’ just gave you more cryptids and creepypastas.

A part of you knew that you should of stopped. Should have just pushed aside the feelings and focused on getting better. But you couldn’t, not this time. Before no one had been harmed (lies) but now people were dead (your arm branded. You couldn’t bear to look at it) If there was a chance that more were around (they had to be) then something needed to be done.

Just when you were about to end the search for the day...you found something. Apparently, someone had sighted a similar Thing. There was no picture but their description painted the same picture of what you knew. It didn’t stop there, there were a thread of posts with sightings in different areas (towns city states some hours some days away). Some said that they saw them with a mouth, others eyes, a handful said hair, and one with a full face minus a nose. (Ones that pointed with betrayed signs, a face scrapped off to show bloodied bones, one the size of a house with nails through the head).

Some posts took them seriously, others weren’t. (Like it was all some kind of game of pretend and NOT HAVING PEOPLES LIVES ON THE LINE) Hesitantly, you leave post on the thread, ‘Has anyone been attacked or followed by them’. It takes some time but a few replies come in, saying that they’ve personally never gotten close to one but maybe someone else has. 

That left a pit in your stomach, either what happened to you was a fluke (was it?) or that more worryingly...you were the only one to survive an encounter.

You kept an eye on the thread for the next couple of days. Call it a gut feeling but...you had a feeling that if you didn’t you would regret it. (”Focus on yourself, all this worrying will just make you sicker.” “Wait and watch, these things take time and tiring yourself out before will only make it worse.”) Whatever you were waiting for came to pass as one night, a post came into the thread. Asking for help. They’d gotten to close to one of them without realizing and now was being chased.

Several more posts followed that one in quick succession. Each near illegible. The poor fool was live posting to what was going on. The results from the others were mixed, but you could tell that a lot of folks were skeptical. Maybe it was the trauma or maybe it was the desire to see that someone survived what your friends didn’t. You quickly wrote that they needed to hide, that if they didn’t have a weapon to find one. If they had any idea of their location to call someone and tell them where they were incase of the worst case scenario.

You hoped that your message didn’t get out too late.

The messages seemed to stop after that...at least from that one user. A majority thought that this was one of those alternate reality horror stories. But the minority were skeptical and worried. You watched the thread like a hawk until exhaustion took you late into the early morning. “You did your best, you got the word out.” “Sleep. if they’re still being chased then going silent draws less attention. All we can do is wait.”

And you did.

The voices offered what comfort they could as days went by. (You were honestly surprised that you hadn’t gone grey over all the stress from the last month.) It was three days after that you received a PM. It was better than you expected. The person from two days ago, beaten and bruised (broken ribs and a busted arm) was alive. The pressure in your chest lightened. They had taken your advice to hide and call for help. They’d been found but the person they called had gotten there (in time).

The words blurred and you realized you were crying. You’d cried a lot since of the beginning of this chaos (fear panic agony mind breaking madness) but this time...it was from happiness. For the first time in what felt like an eternity there was a light in this nightmare. A part of you knew this happiness wouldn’t last for long, that reality would snap back and you’d worry again about the them again. 

Something was happening in Nevada but for right now, right now you would take what joy you could get.

[whitehotharlots]

A movement that cannot be criticized cannot achieve positive goals

The hardest part of talking about malignant trends on the broad left is that, well, you’re not allowed to talk about them. It’s no exaggeration to say that criticism has become fully conflated with violence. If you attempt to engage critically with a left-liberal writer--regardless of how thorough and respectful you may be, and regardless of how powerful, public, or insulated the subject of the criticism--you will be accused of dismissing and erasing the writer, of inciting violence against the writer, and of committing some form of genocide against whichever identity groups the writer belongs to.

Conversely, if you don’t provide specifics, you’ll be accused of making stuff up. The same people who claim it’s an act of aggression to ask for proof when they make claims of victimization turn into immense pedants the moment they encounter a heterodox opinion. 

Unsurprisingly, a discourse milieu in which critical analysis is forbidden is a prime breeding ground for unsustainable (and even horrific) behavioral standards. Never mind improving the world that exists outside their sphere of influence... these people are perpetually on the brink of destroying their allies, their institutions, and themselves.

Today I dug into an especially profane case that highlights both of these points. It’s a matter of public record, so I hopefully won’t get accused of “doxing” anyone for discussing it. It’s also the sort of story where if someone cares about it, they’ll have an opinion of it within a second or two of reading a headline describing what happened. This means it’ll only be of interest to the sort of cranks who read this blog. My goal here isn’t to express outrage or advocate for one side or other--although it is outrageous, and you won’t have to try too hard to see which side I favor. Instead, I’m going to try to move beyond that, to use this instance as a broader cautionary tale in regards to the more horrific tendencies of the identitarian left, and to begin formulating some means of resistance. 

In other words, this might get boring. Even more so than usual. 

The story involves a court case, documented here, in which a young man named Kieran Bhattacharya is suing the University of Virginia Medical School. Mr. Bhattacharya (a white supremacist name if I’ve ever heard one) was subjected to formal censure, repeated psychological evaluations, suspension, and eventual expulsion. This all happened because he raised some concerns after a White Fragility-inspired panel on microaggressions.

This is one of those cases where both sides are going to assume there’s a lot more going on beneath the surface and, like I said, are going to be disinclined toward actually reading the available evidence. Thankfully, the court brief is fairly exhaustive and--importantly--the account provided in the brief has received the approval of both plaintiff and defendant. To stress, everyone involved in this case agrees, legally, that the account provided herein is an accurate picture of what happened. Additionally, we also have audio of the initial microaggression seminar (Mr. Bhattacharya’s comments start at around the 28:30 mark), as well as of the pursuant committee meeting that ended in his expulsion. 

Here is the initial exchange, as documented by the brief:

Bhattacharya: Hello. Thank you for your presentation. I had a few questions just to clarify your definition of microaggressions. Is it a requirement, to be a victim of microaggression, that you are a member of a marginalized group? 

Adams: Very good question. And no. And no— 

Bhattacharya: But in the definition, it just said you have to be a member of a marginalized group—in the definition you just provided in the last slide. So that’s contradictory. 

Adams: What I had there is kind of the generalized definition. In fact, I extend it beyond that. As you see, I extend it to any marginalized group, and sometimes it’s not a marginalized group. There are examples that you would think maybe not fit, such as body size, height, [or] weight. And if that is how you would like to see me expand it, yes, indeed, that’s how I do. 

Bhattacharya: Yeah, follow-up question. Exactly how do you define marginalized and who is a marginalized group? Where does that go? I mean, it seems extremely nonspecific.

 Adams: And—that’s intentional. That’s intentional to make it more nonspecific . . . . 

After the initial exchange, Bhattacharya challenged Adams’s definition of microaggression. He argued against the notion that “the person who is receiving the microaggressions somehow knows the intention of the person who made it,” and he expressed concern that “a microaggression is entirely dependent on how the person who’s receiving it is reacting.” Id. He continued his critique of Adams’s work, saying, “The evidence that you provided—and you said you’ve studied this for years—which is just one anecdotal case—I mean do you have, did you study anything else about microaggressions that you know in the last few years?” Id. After Adams responded to Bhattacharya’s third question, he asked an additional series of questions: “So, again, what is the basis for which you’re going to tell someone that they’ve committed a microaggression? . . . Where are you getting this basis from? How are you studying this, and collecting evidence on this, and making presentations on it?”

You can listen to the audio if you like. There’s nothing there, in my opinion, that is not captured accurately in the written description. Bhattacharya does not yell or raise his voice. He sounds skeptical, but in no way violent or threatening. Nor does Adams, the presenter, signal that she is experiencing anything that approaches fear or trauma. 

Immediately after the event, a professor who helped organize the discussion filed a “Professionalism Concern Card”--a cute academic euphemism for a disciplinary write up--against Bhattacharya, alleging he had displayed a troubling lack of respect for differences (the irony here probably does not need to be explicated).

Soon after that--literally still the same day of the panel--Bhattacharya received an email from faculty asking him to “share his thoughts” so as to help him “understand and be able to cope with unintended consequences of conversations.” The tone of the email is polite and professional, but the text hints toward an attempt at entrapment. You’ll see this a lot in woke spaces--invitations to come to an understanding with one another that are, in actuality, attempts to get a person to say something cancellable.

Bhattacharya took the bait, and, well… 

During Bhattacharya and Peterson’s one-hour meeting, Peterson “barely mentioned” Bhattacharya’s questions and comments at the panel discussion. Dkt. 33 ¶ 73. Instead, Peterson attempted to determine Bhattacharya’s “views on various social and political issues—including sexual assault, affirmative action, and the election of President Trump.” 

At this point, the kid was fucked. He soon after had an uneventful-seeming meeting with a dean. Two weeks after that, a separate panel found him guilty of “patterns of unprofessional behavior and egregious violations of professionalism” and strongly encouraged him to seek psychological counseling. 

Pre-Trump, Bhattacharya still probably would have been fine if he had just kept his head down, gone to a couple therapy sessions, and maybe issued an empty apology. Since 2016, however, the rules have changed. An accusation is now absolute proof of guilt and no amount of ablution can save someone in a vulnerable position. 

Eleven days after receiving the ostensible suggestion that he receive counseling, Bhattacharya was informed that he would not be permitted to return to classes until he had been evaluated. A day after that--before even having the opportunity to seek the mandated counseling--he was given a mere 3 hours notice before having to attend another disciplinary committee meeting. 

This meeting found that Bhattacharya’s continuing behaviors were proof that he posed an imminent danger to the campus community, although the committee did not bother to explain what those behaviors entailed. His behavior was simply noted as “unusual” and this was proof that “Any patient that walked into the room with [Bhattacharya] would be scared.” The following day, Bhattacharya was forcibly removed from campus and told he could not return until he had been screened. He was, subsequently, not allowed to receive sanctioned screening, because of his status of having been removed from campus after being deemed a security risk.

Again, none of what I have described is an exaggeration. None of these details are even being contested. 

Now for my own conjecture: the problem isn’t that anyone genuinely believes Bhattacharya poses a threat to anyone’s safety. The problem is that he attempted to question the ideological firmaments of contemporary anti-racist training. These firmaments are protected with aggressive viciousness precisely because they cannot withstand scrutiny. Had Bhattacharya merely scoffed at them, or even if he had been outright condescending and dismissive, he probably would not have received such a severe punishment. The problem was that he was right, and his accusers knew it.

Understanding speech in the manner prescribed by the peddlers of microaggression theory cannot possibly be codified in a way that won't result in arbitrary punishment. Bhattacharya’s experience demonstrates that with horrific irony. 

The assertion here is that the intention of a speech act should have no bearing on how we adjudicate the morality of that speech act--such a point was made repeatedly in the initial discussion, and stressed once again after Bhattacharya’s concerns have been raised. This standard contradicts how we've processed the morality of speech for centuries, but that's what people are very explicitly demanding.

How is this workable, when literally any statement could, conceivably, be considered offensive by at least one individual? This, I feel, was the point Bhattacharya reaching toward. If you were to say, I dunno, "I love trees" to a group of 1000 people, 999 of them could regard that statement as benign. But what if one person takes offense to it? What if they work in the lumber industry, or they were molested by guy in a Smokey the Bear costume? What if that person then files a report accusing the tree lover of offensive speech? Will the speaker be disciplined? Or will the powers that be take intention and effect into account?

Of course, we're not going to criminalize all speech in this way. Like all extreme and broad-reaching disciplinary standards, this one will only be selectively evoked in order to punish people with heterodox opinions and/or those whose presence threatens the status quo. Someone who says something much more incendiary, like "all men are rapists" or "white people shouldn't get social security" would not receive a reprimand regardless of how much offense their statements caused, because they're saying something that's acceptable in our current milieu. And right now, the least acceptable speech is that which shines a light on the manifest flaws and hypocrisies of corporate anti racism. 

Back to my hypothetical example, if the tree-loving speaker was on good terms with everyone, the complaint would most likely be ignored. But if he had said or done other things that for whatever reason displeased the people in charge, the specious accusation could still ruin him. What's worse, the person who filed the allegation of offense might not have even actually taken offense at the statement--they were just looking for a way to get rid of him.

Bhattacharya was attempting to voice legitimate criticisms about a political movement whose suggestions are functionally unworkable and that, even if it were implemented fully and uncritically, does not contain even a hypothetical explanation in regards to how its goals would result in improved racial equality/equity. Because of that, he was cynically labeled dangerous and expelled from a public university. 

You'd think a group that obsesses over power differentials and their own marginalization would have some grasp of this. Regardless of which side you fall into with this particular culture war, it should fucking terrify you that a movement that’s been tasked with addressing pressing social problems is designed in such a way that any substantial criticism is met with aggressive punishment. 

There’s no way you can win if this is you is how conduct yourself. This is why we’re losing. This is why even if you get all the censorship and deplatforming you can ever dream of, even if every major bank and multinational corporatation professes fealty to your movement, you will still lose. Because there’s no way you can win. 

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Dilliam: You Have To Stop Running

Part One: Running Away Makes Matters Worse

After the horrible turn of events in the theatre, Mark decides to pay Damien a visit to see how he’s doing.

Word Count: 1,213

-

Damien’s home was dark when the car pulled up to the gate. Mark stepped out first, hesitated, then turned back to the other two.

“Stay here. I think it’s best if I go up and talk to him first. The last thing we want is to cause more distress if we all land on his doorstep.” Mark waited for a beat to gauge reactions. William, unsurprisingly, looked relieved; while Celine’s expression soured. At least she had the manners to agree to Mark’s idea. He closed the door, told the driver he wouldn’t be long, and made his way to the front door.

Knocking the door yielded no results for several long moments, which was enough time for Mark to start fretting about what to do. Fortunately, he could hear footsteps approaching.

“Damien! It’s just Mark!”

It was enough to work. The heavy wooden door creaked open to reveal an exhausted Damien. He was dressed in pyjamas with a robe hastily thrown on over (thank goodness Mark told the others to wait!), hair falling loose after being combed back all day… But it was the red, puffy eyes that Mark noticed over everything else. He was quick to snatch Damien and yank him into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, Dames. I shouldn’t have left as quickly as I did. I was sure the lobby would be the one place he’d behave himself.”

“It’s alright.” Damien’s voice was muffled against Mark’s coat. “You didn’t think it would happen. I appreciate you trying to help. I’m just sorry I couldn’t stay for the show -”

“Don’t worry about that. I have a ticket for tomorrow for you. There’s a far more urgent matter to deal with. How are you doing? Celine told me everything.” At last, Damien pulled away from Mark and invited the actor inside. Mark could see how Damien withdrew in himself as he sat on the nearest chair. 

-

“I knew this would happen. It isn’t as though this series of events was a surprise, really... But it still hurts. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt an attraction to anyone else in the way I did to the Colonel, but I’ve certainly never felt so empty inside before. He really doesn’t like me at all. He could barely stay alone with me for twelve seconds.” Damien paused to wrap the robe tighter to himself. “When I told him, he didn’t say or do anything. He stared at me like I was insane. It might have hurt less if he had said he didn’t feel the same, or that he isn’t romantically interested in men. But to know the man I fell in love with can hardly tolerate me… I don’t know what to do.”

“About that…” Mark glanced aside. “So there's an itty bitty problem that is not going to help your dilemma."

"What would that be?"

"Well, after you left, Celine discovered that the Colonel… Does feel the same way?"

Silence fell. Being married to Celine, Mark knew exactly what to expect. He took a half-step back and braced himself.

"He… what?" Damien looked at Mark for confirmation. When the actor nodded, the politician leaned his head back against the chair with a frustrated sigh. "I cannot believe him! He has been the source of stress for me for MONTHS now. And now you tell me that it all could have been resolved if he wasn't such a coward and had actually tried to talk to me?!" Mark winced in sympathy, only to yelp as Damien got back onto his feet.

"You know what, Mark? I'm done trying. I'm sick and tired of trying to make the first move only to have the door slammed in my face! If you speak the truth, and he wants to date me, then he has to prove it. HE has to make the first step and show me it's not an act of politeness."

"Wait wait wait. You're still willing to give him a chance after everything he's put you through?" Mark didn't try to hide the surprise at Damien's decision, or at the way he nodded in response.

"I don't think my heart would forgive me if I didn't hold out a little longer, if I'm honest." Another sigh, but calmer this time. "I'm sorry, Mark. I've been such a nuisance about all of this. I shouldn't be-"

"Damien." Mark boldly marched forward and placed both hands on the other man's shoulder. "You were the grounding force when I was a mess for Celine - and don't point out that I still am, you know what I mean." Damien's knowing look remained as Mark continued, "You were there for me when I needed advice on what to do about Celine. I can't try to recall how many afternoons I dropped by your family home to try and get you to discreetly check if she was interested in me. I've tried to help you as much as I can, but clearly I don't know Will as well as I used to. If you are willing to give one more chance, then I will support you through it as best I can. Speaking of, do you want someone to stay with you tonight? Celine is waiting in the car. I can fetch her for you."

"No thank you. I want to go to bed soon and put this miserable night behind me." A sentiment that Mark perfectly understood. It was something that lit his face up as his acting muse provided inspiration!

"Then come join Celine and I for a late lunch tomorrow! That way, we can then make our way to the theatre together afterward. I insist."

At last, a hint of a proper smile appeared on Damien's face. "I think I'd like that, thank you. You and Celine are always there for me when I need it, and I do honestly value that."

"With how you bend over backward for everyone else, it's the least we can do!"

--

The cold breeze greeted Mark as he stepped outside. Oddly enough, so did his driver, Bill. Bill was leaning back against the low stone wall, and rolled his eyes toward the car before Mark opened his mouth to ask. Even from here, the driver's window being open a crack let the sounds of Celine's shouting slip out.

"Ah." 

Poor William. Even after the mess of tonight, he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of one of Celine’s long-winded lectures. Mark would need to step in and rescue his childhood friend.

"Sorry to interrupt this lively ‘conversation’, folks," Mark opened the back seat door and leaned against it smugly, "but Damien is coming over for lunch tomorrow and we have a lot of work to do."

"Hold on, 'we'?" asked William.

"Of course, 'we'! This mess is entirely your fault. Celine and I can provide a setting, but you are the only one who can fix it." Mark relished the panic setting in on William's face as he turned to Celine. She flashed a triumphant grin as she got comfortable in her seat beside the door. "Come along, Bill! We have to return home!" Mark climbed in on the other side of the soldier, trapping William between the couple as they set off for the manor.

-

Part Three: Turn and Face Your Fears Directly

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Seventeen ~ Split

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1482

Warnings: None

A/n Hello hello! I know it’s not one of my normal update days, but this one is short, so enjoy this angsty bonus chapter!

Cosima

Weeks pass in routine. In the mornings I research with Alex or study Sindarin alone, sometimes venturing into the garden or library to occupy my time. The lunch hours are typically spent in the company of friends, and Lavandil and I have been passing many of our afternoons together in her shop. As the summer continues, business only grows, and I can see why she asked for the help. Her art is quite popular! She tried to teach me how to weave and, unsurprisingly, I’m terrible. So I mainly help clean and work with the customers.

Three nights a week, Alex, Baranor and I meet in the library and continue our lessons. On that, I actually am making progress. It’s allowed me to converse with Lavandil’s customers in their own language. It’s also helped me feel much more self-sufficient here. No longer must I have to rely on Lavandil or Rumil to translate when we go out. Ellyn I speak with still have to slow their words and repeat things several times, and sometimes I must ask for clarification, but the progress really is liberating.

Two days a week, right after breakfast, Alex and I meet Elrond in his study.

Lord Elrond insists on using the power in his fæ to attempt to aid us in recovering our memories. I hate to admit it, but his efforts are wasted and, on my part, not really wanted. Besides the memory of Mara and Nonna, I don’t remember anything, and at this point, I’m not sure I want to. I’m already too attached to the people here, and I’ve seen where that’s gotten me. I don’t want to remember people from home — love them, miss them, and then realize I can never return to them.

I don’t make much progress, anyway. Most days, Alex and I have nothing but headaches and exhaustion to show for our work. Every now and then, one of us will remember something small — a passing event or an aquauntaince from childhood — but nothing of real interest. Elrond agrees that the headaches and exhaustion are signs that we are not yet healed from whatever ordeal resulted in us arriving in Arda. He’s been keeping an eye on our fæs — apparently they are somehow injured — and says that the original wounds are all but healed.

Alex’s progress is less encouraging. His old wounds are healing, but nearly every time Elrond or Baranor checks, there’s a new injury. They don’t know what’s causing it, but privately, I have a theory. While Alex says he’s accepted this world, knowing him, there’s a part that’s still hanging on to our homeworld. Maybe that’s causing too much stress to allow him to heal. Because I’m healing, and I’ve fully accepted this world for what it is — impossible, different, but real.

And then at night time, training continues with Haldir.

I am careful to keep distance between us except when absolutely necessary. By the way he does the same, he’s recognized the urgent precariousness of our situation. As much as I want to confess the feelings I keep so tightly bottled up inside, to fall into his arms and ask him to love me forever, I cannot.

Because my forever is abysmally different than his.

So I keep my distance.

My effort to avoid excessive contact or time with him is helped by the fact that, not long after our first training session, he became incredibly busy. Though relations between him and Glorfindel are still tense, the two work tirelessly to train the newer guard. Often, by the time I make my way down to breakfast, Haldir is long gone, off to lead drills.

The distance between us hasn’t helped my internal predicament.

Too often, I catch myself following the line of his jaw, remembering the feeling of his arms wrapped around me, wanting to return to that excitement of just the two of us under the stars.

I don’t act on these thoughts, nor communicate them to anyone, though Lavandil certainly tries to break that resolve. She’s adamant that, even with my lifespan to consider, it is better to spend the time we have together in happiness rather than holding ourselves back from something that could be great.

I forcefully disagree.

I’d rather cause myself a little pain now than put Haldir in a position where he could be broken later.

Surprisingly, Rumil, once my tormentor, has become my closest ally. Any time someone attempts to bring up the subject of me and Haldir, Rumil promptly shuts it down, usually changing the subject to something outlandish enough to properly distract everyone. He kindly occupies my newfound free time and we go riding together at least once a week. Since Rumil has Roch, Haldir allows me to take Faervel out, and, where the horse used to be indifferent towards me at best, he now whinnies in greeting the second I set foot in the stables.

My life in Imladris is nice. It’s peaceful. It’s filled with wonderful friends and so much to discover. And I’m happy, there’s no doubt about that…even if something is missing. I caught my feelings early and took preventative action by distancing myself from Haldir, which is good…but it’s…unfulfilling, in a way, to stay far from him. I miss eating meals together and talking about our days before training sessions. I miss constantly having him around. I miss him teasing me and moments where it’s just us.

I miss him.

But I won’t lose my resolve.

If my sadness can save Haldir pain, then I will bear it.

{***}

Haldir

Summer in Imladris passes quickly. My days revolve around training the newer guard, and they show promising progress. Lothlórien’s borders are much more extensive than that of Imladris’, and I am confident adopting some of the techniques I use with my wardens at home to fit Elrond’s guard will help them be more prepared when the orcs attack again. My brothers have been indispensable, kindly offering their help and allowing me to use them as examples for the other soldiers. Orophin, of course, plans his schedule around Lavandil’s, but I have him with us about three days a week. Rumil joins nearly every day, only disappearing on Saturday mornings to take the horses out with Cosima.

Cosima.

My mind has been consumed by her for weeks.

If I am being honest, it’s been consumed with her long before then, probably up to the moment she arrived in this world. I now understand that my desire to keep her near me after the attack, and every moment after, was not only a preventative measure to make her feel better — it was my need to keep her close. To keep her safe. To have that reassurance that she is alright, and, if we were to be attacked again, I could defend her myself.

I really do owe Rumil an apology.

Turns out my brother knows me better than I know myself.

But despite the startling realization that I want to be with a human woman—not just any human woman, Cosima—the days continue.

Not of small concern is Cosima’s health which, mercifully, is improving. Her sessions with Elrond to attempt to regain her memories must be helping — though her memories have not returned, the scars on her fæ are nearly completely healed.

Aside from my monitoring of her health through Elrond and Baranor, my busy schedule prevents me from seeking her out. We continue to train together three times a week — she is making vast improvements — but our interactions are hesitant, a little awkward. I worry I overstepped my bounds that first night, or perhaps, even before that — maybe the night under the stars — for she certainly keeps her distance now. No longer do we eat together or talk in our free time. It’s a strange feeling, but it causes me stress not to see her during the day. Even a quick interaction would be enough, just to catch a glimpse of her smile or hear the approval of her laugh, but those are few and far between.

But, as much as it pains me, it is for the best.

I hate to think of it this way, but Cosima’s life is short and her future uncertain. Were she an elleth, there would be no issue — I could tell her of my feelings and she could return them and we could spend the rest of our never-ending lives together.

But Cosima is human. Even if she does choose to stay in Arda forever, her forever and mine are vastly different. If I give in, do as I so desperately want to and build a life with her…

She does not know it, but she has the power to break me.

And, while I still hold a sliver of the ability to keep that from happening, I must seize on it.

A/n Thanks for reading, and happy weekend! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! See you Monday with a new chapter :)

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[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 27

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Angst, slight fluff

; Word Count: 4k

; Warnings: Not really an argument but close to it, depictions of anxiety and stress

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This is one of the more angsty ones, not as bad as before, I swear! I hope you don’t think too harshly of the MC, she’s trying :( the next one is super fluffy...as it’s their anniversary! :D so fear not. As usual, please reblog if you enjoyed it so others can read it and leave me comments, feedback and asks! Thank you!

; Flower Masterpost

-

Straightening up from the bent-over position you’d been in for the last five minutes, you wince at the pain in your back and rub at it with a slight pout to your lips. You don’t remember if moving into your apartment had been this stressful or tiring, but then your place had been much smaller and you’d had less stuff. 

Even with the help of Jimin and Jungkook, it had taken Hoseok and you three days to get everything out of both your old apartments and into your new place. The two of you had started looking for somewhere soon after agreeing to the idea and it had been pure luck to find your new home.

The two-bedroom house that you were both renting was only half an hour away from your parents. It was bigger than you’d originally anticipated but small enough to make it perfect for a couple. There was a backyard that was currently a little overgrown but offered a surprising amount of space while the driveway had space for both your cars. 

The interiors needed a little rework initially but the landlord had promised to have everything repainted and fixed for you both, which they had thankfully. You also had permission to put up decorations on the walls and treat this place like your own home, as long as it all went back to looking neutral at the end.

There had been no reason for either of you to turn it down, especially as the rent was low and the utilities more than affordable. Okay, so you both would need to drive a little further to get to work every day. But both of you were making up for it with the reduction in what you would be paying now compared to before, so you’d eagerly signed the lease agreement as soon as possible.

Which was how you were now here, kneeling on the floor of your new living room as you let out a deep sigh of resignation. Even though you’d been the one to ask Hoseok to move in together, which had surprised pretty much everyone you both knew, it had unsurprisingly been you who’d ended up having issues about the whole thing.

The issues were nothing to do with him or even the idea of living with him. Instead, they were everything to do with the fact that you hated, and struggled to cope with, change of any kind. There probably wasn’t a bigger change out there than uprooting your entire life to a new house and then sharing that house with someone else, a person whom you were romantically involved with. 

Suddenly, any decisions you made regarding your home would need to include Hoseok in them. You wouldn’t be able to change things on the fly like you were used to, nor would you be able to be by yourself at home when you were feeling overwhelmed. It sounded silly when you thought about it logically, or said it out loud, but you’d found yourself struggling over it all.

You’d thought you were ready for it all. After all, you’d been the one to ask him the big question. Only you’d had more than a few meltdowns in the process of packing up your apartment. It made you cringe to think back on them, embarrassment and shame flooding you as you recall the way you’d handled it all.

If there was one thing you’d learnt over the years, it was that you didn’t handle things well in all honesty. Which was why you bottled it all up until it got too much. The results of those explosions got you even more upset, producing a never-ending cycle. Which was why you would often get set off by the smallest, most unimportant thing.

Only last week you’d slipped into, what could only politely be termed, a temper tantrum. A big, fat, adult tantrum. You’d been in the process of breaking down one of the bookcases in your old living room, unscrewing everything carefully after you’d packed away the contents.

The combination of tiredness from all the packing, the stress of moving and changing over debits, the strain of all the lifting, the fact you were doing all this after a full day of work and how your body ached from all the lifting and dismantling had accumulated after you’d accidentally dropped one of the wood sections onto your foot. Almost immediately you’d yelped out in pain before cursing loudly, frustrated tears seeping as you’d visibly trembled in rage at the stupid bookcase.

It had taken half an hour locked inside your bedroom until you’d finally calmed down enough to go back out and carry on. Thankfully, Hoseok hadn’t been there to witness that moment.

Your boyfriend was far more than you deserved as he hadn’t complained about your slowly souring mood. If you were being honest with yourself, he’d probably seen it coming. He had been the one to make completely sure that you were okay with the idea and had tried to make things go as slowly as possible so you didn’t freak out too much. But you were still struggling with it all.

Your antidepressants were working fine and you were thankful that you hadn’t fallen into a slump, but you just felt like you couldn’t think properly. Nothing was in its right place and everything was just...wrong at the moment. Then there was the fact that you were going to have Hoseok’s stuff here too and you’d both bickered about whether or not to set up the second bedroom as a spare bedroom or an office.

He was truly a saint, you were positive, because despite how grumpy you had slowly become he had taken it all on the chin with a patient smile. You, however, just wanted to go to sleep and for everything to be ready to use in the morning. 

It frustrated you to look around the house and see everything that still needed to be built and put away. If you stared too long then you often ended up feeling the heat build in your eyes, tears threatening as exhaustion buffeted you. But that wasn’t how it went, and so you had been unpacking box after box only to find it was more stuff that needed to go in the storage unit that Hoseok was going to build.

Or rather, should have built. He’d promised a few hours ago that he’d get it all set up for you so that you could at least get these boxes out of the way. This unit was going to store all the books, board games and Hoseok’s vinyl records. Instead, they were all still in the boxes and you were glaring at the box that held the storage unit. Still not made.

“Hoseok!” You yell, the tone of your voice a little harsher than you’d intended it. He wasn’t used to hearing you get angry or annoyed but he’d certainly gotten used to it in the last two weeks. Being the good person he was though, he hadn’t snapped back at you. Yet.

“Yeah?” Comes his muffled response and you hear the quiet, low voices of the other two men from the main bedroom. They’d been putting together the bedroom furniture all day while you’d unpacked the kitchen, carefully storing the fragile dishes and glasses before finding homes for the food that you’d run to the store for.

“I thought you said you were going to build this unit?” Even as the words come out of your mouth, you can tell that you’re being unreasonable. He’d spent all day sweating and swearing as he’d set up bedside cabinets, drawers and even the bed. The two of you had decided to invest in all new furniture given you both had rather dated furniture that didn’t match at all.

Unnecessary? Yes, but you’d just wanted to have a nice home that looked right. Yet again, more unreasonable demands from you and more expense. But he hadn’t complained about any of it, instead just going shopping with you and getting it all. Maybe he thought there was no point in complaining or something, but you had the furniture you’d wanted in the end.

And you weren’t being a mean person. You had offered to help them build it all but they’d waved it off with the eagerness of men wanting to be manly and build things. Plus, you were pretty convinced that Hoseok knew how frustrated you’d become just dismantling furniture and didn’t want to risk you getting even angrier if something went wrong while building. 

After repeated offers to help them being rebuffed, you’d finally just shrugged and settled yourself for putting away everything that you could. You liked doing that much better really as it gave you a sense of peace and satisfaction to see things in the places you wanted them and looking tidy.

Maybe that was why Hoseok had suggested you do that. He’d been amused the first time he’d seen your food pantry all in neat lines for ease of storage and access but had slowly learnt that you liked everything to have a place and always be in it. 

As it was, the kitchen was pretty much completed and so was the ensuite bathroom and the guest bathroom. The living room had Hoseok’s couch and your coffee table while there were a dining table and chairs towards the back. Perfect for both eating and gaming, of course.

But there was no storage in here because...well because Hoseok hadn’t built it!

“Sorry, I’ve been busy here. We’ve just got to finish up with these drawers-” Huffing, you scowl at the unopened box before looking over all the other boxes that haven’t even been touched as his excuses wash over you. The rational part of you knows that they’re valid excuses and you even want to tell him it’s fine, the living room can wait until tomorrow.

The dark cloud of annoyance, stress, anxiety and tiredness has settled fully over your mind though and you grit your teeth as tears form in your eyes. Why did you always have to cry when you were angry? It was pathetic.

“It’s fine. Whatever.” There’s a terse silence that follows your short words and you can practically hear Jimin and Jungkook cringing at the tension that’s suddenly ratcheted up. Pursing your lips, you wipe at your eyes furiously before closing the box back up and pushing at it harshly.

“I’ll build it now for you.” Hoseok’s voice is much closer and you look up, noting his carefully neutral expression on his tired face. Almost immediately you feel remorse for being short with him but the words get stuck in your throat. His hands are a little dirty from the dust of the furniture he’s been building and you note they’re also a little red, probably sore from using the screwdrivers and stuff. 

You go to look for some of your hand cream to rub into them for him before realising that you have no idea where it is and the negativity comes rushing back. The box that he’s carrying clinks quietly and you know it’s got all the tools he needs in it to build the unit.

“I said it’s fine. We can do it tomorrow.” Looking away from him, you rub at your forehead from the headache you’ve got while rolling your shoulders, trying to stretch the aches and pains away. There’s a deep sigh from Hoseok that sounds incredibly controlled and you wince slightly, realising that he’s holding his temper back.

“It’s okay, it’s a quick build. It’ll take half an hour or something and then it’ll be done. Better to get it done now and then we get some of these boxes gone, right?” Closing your eyes, you bite your lip hard as you try to settle yourself. When you’re in one of these moods, you normally just take yourself off somewhere to be alone so you can’t be rude or mean. 

But there is nowhere to take yourself to here. Nowhere that’s ready, anyway.

Pressing your hands to your eyes, you feel the hysterical urge to just cry and scream. The knowledge that all your safe spaces have vanished for the moment and you have nowhere to go to be calm tipping you further. Even Kasumi is stuck just sleeping on the floor as her stuff is also packed away, waiting to be rebuilt.

You just want it all done so that you can settle back down and allow yourself time to get used to the new environment you live in. Let it all become familiar and warm once more, a home that you can retreat to and feel comfortable in. Right now, it resembles more of an IKEA and you hate it.

“Baby-” Hoseok starts and you shake your head furiously, wiping hard at your eyes before pushing the box of books as hard as you can in front of you. It’s a futile way to get out some of your anger and stress, but it feels good. Better than saying something that might hurt the one person who’s understood you more than anyone in years.

“Leave me alone. Please. Go build the bed or whatever. It’s fine. Tomorrow. I just, I need you to-” You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore and you feel the anxiety of it all building up. Leaving your old apartment was so much harder than you’d expected and you’d struggled with the idea of knowing you no longer had anywhere to truly be alone. If you got mad at Hoseok in the future, he’d still be in the house somewhere.

You’d spent so many years making your place somewhere that was comfortable and familiar to you, a home that you enjoyed being in and now it was all gone. Now you have to relearn how to make this space comfortable and learn entirely new ways of how to cope with your moods and behaviour with another person.

The quiet sound of the door shutting clues you into the fact that Jimin and Jungkook have left. Unsurprising really, because you sure wouldn’t want to hang around to hear a domestic argument. Particularly given one of those involved is perhaps the quietest person they’ve ever known.

Standing, you pick up one of the boxes that are filled with your board games and move it to the other side of the living room, providing plenty of space to build furniture tomorrow. Going back, you don’t look at Hoseok and you’re not entirely sure why. Maybe you’ll explode on him or maybe you’ll burst into tears. Who knows?

You don’t, which is why you clench your jaw. 

There’s an awkward silence between you both as Hoseok doesn’t move, simply watches as you rearrange the boxes in the living room. It makes absolutely no difference now that they’re on the other side of the room but you feel a small sense of relief and peace when they’re all lined up neatly in one area, stacked on top of each other carefully.

The floor is visible once more and you frown at the sight of all the dust covering it. You should vacuum that, only you don’t think you have a vacuum anymore. That may have been one of the things Hoseok said to throw out as yours was ancient and he didn’t even have one. 

Scowling at it, you go to the kitchen to grab some cleaning spray and a cloth to at least get the coffee table looking nice. There was no reason for it as it was just going to get dirty again immediately from all the furniture dust but you just needed to make it look clean for now.

“I’m not gonna fight you, Y/N. Please tell me what’s wrong?” Hoseok says quietly, his voice carefully neutral and you pause at the kitchen cabinet, fingers on the door handle. “Please. I don’t want to argue with you when I know you’re not mad at me.”

He sounds so reasonable and calm that you don’t snap at him immediately, instead frowning down at the countertop and rubbing at a mark on it. For a few minutes, you don’t respond and he doesn’t push either. You’re not entirely sure what nation you saved in a previous life to get him, but it must have been a big one.

There’s plenty of other men who would have had a full-scale argument with you by now. The kind of argument that would have let you in tears while you struggled to breath from the anxiety of it all. But t Hoseok knew you. After almost a year together, he knew what upset you and made you angry. Most of all, he knew that you didn’t respond well to conflict. Which was he was just waiting for you to talk to him instead of shouting at you.

Maybe the knowledge that he wasn’t going to snipe at you or be mean was the final straw. All you know though, is that his soft and reassuring words seem to cause something inside of you to crack and all the stress that’s been building up inside your mind finally bursts free. 

Lips quivering, you frown hard as you wonder how you’re meant to get across what you’re feeling and thinking. You don’t even really know yourself, so trying to describe it to the one person who you want to understand the most is even harder. Made more so by the fear he might find your excuses pitiful.

“I don’t...it’s just,” Your throat closes tightly as thick tears slowly start to fall. “It’s a lot. Everything’s a lot right now and I just...I can’t handle it. I don’t know how to. I mean...I don’t feel comfortable here yet and it’s making me so anxious and unhappy. And then everything is in these fucking boxes and nothings built properly, we don’t even have the television set up and it’s just...I’m just struggling. I’m trying Hobi, I’m trying.”

You whisper the last words, wiping at your eyes and nose as you try your hardest not to completely break down. If there’s one thing you hate the most in the world, it’s probably crying. It makes you feel pathetic, and when you’re struggling with something as simple as moving places it makes you even more so.

“I just...nothing’s where I like it and I don’t know where everything is. It all feels foreign to me and even Kasumi doesn’t have her stuff! I don’t even know what I’m saying, it’s not even that bad but...but...I just want it all finished so I can start getting used to it! Start thinking of it all as a home and getting used to a routine here! And I’ve had to change all my routines around now because it takes longer to get to work so I have to get up earlier which means I have to go to bed earlier and find out the traffic and-” You’re interrupted by Hoseok wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you tightly.

For a few seconds, you do nothing until the warmth of his embrace causes you to turn around and link your arms around his waist too. Inhaling deeply, you take in his scent and start to cry once more as everything all comes to a head in your mind, all the ramblings thoughts and stressors and worries you’ve had flooding out as you ramble on to him.

Finally, though, you run out of things to tell him about why you’re so upset about seemingly nothing and instead just hold onto him silently. Your tears are soaking his shirt and you feel a little embarrassed at your minor meltdown but most of all, you just feel safe in his arms. Like no matter what you say or how silly it sounds, he won’t judge you.

In the chaos of your mind and surroundings right now, he was stable and familiar. Comforting.

“Why didn’t you argue with me? I could practically hear you restraining yourself. I was being so stupid and mean for no reason.” You whisper after a while, lips brushing against his shirt with every word. His chest shakes as he chuckles, a hand stroking along your back reassuringly.

“Oh, I almost did. Today was the closest I’ve ever come to snapping back at you. There’s every chance I might’ve done if you’d been someone else. But I know you. And even though you haven’t confided it to me...I know you’ve been putting a brave face on with this whole moving thing. We’ve been together for almost a year, sweetheart. I know what makes you upset and I’ve learnt that change is one of them. And this? Is a big change. I’m stressed over it all so I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling.” The tears return to sting at your eyes, pricking at them hotly and you sniff almost pathetically at his sweet, soothing words.

“I’m sorry. I just…” He cuts you off once more with a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“It’s okay, honestly. I’m just happy you’ve finally told me. I’d pretty much figured all of this out and I knew you weren’t coping too well. But you weren’t talking to me and I didn’t want to push it if you didn’t feel comfortable. But baby, please, in the future just talk to me. I don’t want us to get into another situation like today where we’re on the verge of an unnecessary argument over something as stupid as a storage unit.” He’s rubbing his hands along your arms in a warming gesture, giving you a soft smile that has the tears banking once more.

“I’m sorry. I just...I always feel so stupid. It’s not even anything that bad and I’m here acting like a baby over it all.” Your words are a little thick from how tight your throat is and Hoseok sighs once more, only this time a little more affectionately. The small smile he gives you cuts through your wallowing self-pity.

“You’re not being a baby. If you’re upset over it, then you’re upset over it. I don’t want you getting stressed or anxious over anything but I’ll take having your routine changed and the places where you feel safe and comfortable changing over you getting pissed at me just because I hadn’t built something on time. Those are real reasons to get upset, emotions that are a part of you and I’ll try my hardest to never be angry at you for feeling them. I can’t guarantee it’ll always work because Lord knows I’d almost reached my point today but I will try. Because I know you don’t mean it. You’re the least angry and mean person I’ve ever met, to be honest.” A kiss to your forehead once more seals his words and you sniff, wiping at your face again.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or upset you. I’m sorry. This is just, really big. And I’m scared too. Because if something goes wrong between us then this,” You gesture round to the house in general. “Makes it harder for us to go our separate ways. That frightens me.”

“Hey, it frightens me too. But you know what’s good about that? I have zero plans of leaving you anytime and I’m pretty sure you have zero plans too. Right?” A head tilt from him adds to his questioning tone and you can’t help the soft smile as you nod. Enveloping you in a tight hug once more, Hoseok does his best to reassure you before pulling away slowly.

“Okay, we finished all the bedroom off so...how about we just get the bedding sorted, order takeout and then just watch something on my laptop? No more negativity and no more work today, okay? Let’s just cuddle up and relax.” Looking out over the living room that you can see over the island in the kitchen, you twist your lips at the sight of everything still packed away before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

[adiwriting]

Sunday Morning 13/?

This fic was written after both @cosmicclownboy​ and @jocarthage​ talked to me about Malex gardening... so this is a thing. As always, if you have a prompt, let me know! 

Gif by the lovely @manesalex​

Week 13

It’s nearly lunchtime by the time Alex wanders out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, expecting to find Michael playing with the puppies. The fact that he doesn’t see Michael or the puppies is confusing. Michael had walked them this morning, but that had been hours ago and he’s definitely been back since then. He’s sure of it because Michael had brought him an omelette in bed and had made Bell a special doggy breakfast of her own. 

Michael hadn’t said he was leaving and he never steps out without a goodbye kiss, even if he’s just going for a quick walk around the block. He takes a lap around the house, checking all of the rooms and the garage before he hears tiny paws against the back door and realizes that Michael must be in the backyard. When he looks over, he smiles at the sight of Peter jumping at the sliding door, trying to reach him. When he looks out into the yard further, he sees Michael, shirtless, with a shovel in hand. 

His first thought is that he’s burying a body, because that’s just the kind of crazy life they lead these days. Though Alex is pretty sure he would have heard if they’d killed anyone and Michael isn’t stupid enough to bury a body in their own backyard. Still, he doesn’t know what else Michael could need a shovel for or why he’s digging up the backyard. 

Curious, he steps out into the back, leaning down to pick up Peter as he jumps all over him. 

“What is your daddy doing?” he asks as Peter licks his face. 

Michael has the radio on, cranking some country station that Alex can’t stand but Michael loves. Wendy is rolling around in a pile of clay that Michael has dug up and John is, unsurprisingly, sleeping in the sling that Michael’s taken to wearing. He should snap a picture and send it to Isobel. She doesn’t believe Alex when he tells her that Michael is going to be the most overprotective dad in the world. He pulls out his phone while Michael still hasn't noticed him and snaps a picture, making sure to zoom in on John’s dopey little puppy smile. 

“What are you doing?” he asks once he’s close enough not to have to yell. 

Michael looks up at him, slightly startled, before smiling. “I'm setting up a garden.” 

Alex gives Michael a curious look. He’s never heard him talk about an interest in gardening before, but he guesses it makes sense given all the time he’s spent working at various ranches and farms around town. 

“It’s gonna be great,” Michael says. “Just trust me.”  

Alex has no reason to doubt him. He’s said that about every other home improvement project he’s started and each time Alex has been pleasantly surprised by the results. Michael could probably have his own show on HGTV if he wanted. Lord knows the world would love watching shirtless Michael doing home improvement jobs around the house. Alex certainly does. 

“Okay,” he agrees, not honestly caring one way or the other. It’s Michael’s house, too, even if they’ve never made it official. If he wants a garden, he can have a garden. 

Alex has never been one to plant, himself. Gardening isn’t a stereotypically manly activity, so it clearly wasn’t something any child of Jesse Manes was going to do. He can just picture his dad’s reaction if Alex had ever even suggested planting something. Once he’d joined the military, attempting to grow anything seemed pointless when he never knew how long he would be in a single place for. He’s pretty sure it’s not his thing though. He barely remembers to feed himself and the dogs, so there’s no way he’s going to remember to regularly water a plant. 

Peter starts moving around in his arms, whining to be let down. Alex sets him on the ground and groans when he goes to jump in the same pile of clay that his sister is already playing in. They are definitely going to need a bath tonight. 

“Gardening is supposed to reduce stress and anxiety,” Michael explains as he hands Alex his shovel and moves to go grab another one. 

“So I guess you’re expecting me to do this with you?” Alex asks, amused. 

“Am I expecting you to take your shirt off and get hot and sweaty with me?” he responds, playfully. “Absolutely.” 

Alex laughs at that, but does start to dig into the dirt, following Michael’s lead. 

“Weren’t the puppies supposed to be our therapy?” he asks a few minutes later, once he’s started working up a decent sweat. 

“The puppies were your therapy,” Michael says. 

Alex scoffs staring pointedly at the puppy that’s literally strapped to Michael’s chest. 

“I love how you tell everyone that we got these dogs for me,” Alex says with a laugh. He pulls his own shirt off when it becomes clear that it’s too hot to be out here with it on. “I was prepared to leave with one. You’re the one that decided we needed to bring home four.” 

“You really think you’d have been able to pick one of them?” he asks. Alex thinks about it, and the truth is, he’s not sure how he would have picked just one of them. “That’s what I thought,” he adds with a smirk. 

“So why are we digging up all of this land? Don’t we just need to like, put the seeds in a hole?” Alex asks. 

Michael looks at him in sheer disbelief. He opens his mouth several times to say something but eventually just shakes his head. “You’re so pretty,” he teases and Alex flips him off. 

“Seriously, Guerin, I know nothing,” Alex says. “Teach me.” 

“Really?” he asks, unsure. “You’re not going to make fun of me if I nerd out?” 

“I mean, I’m totally gonna make fun of you, but I’ll listen.” 

Michael spends the next few hours teaching Alex all about proper soil for plant growth, the health benefits of growing your own food organically, the satisfaction that comes from being able to provide for yourself off of your own land, and about a thousand other things that Alex only half understands. He enjoys listening to it all anyways. By mid afternoon, the kids are exhausted and laying in the shade sleeping and Alex is ready to follow suit. But they’ve got something called a raised bed that will be ready for planting and Michael is already talking about building another accessible raised bed so that Alex can garden with him. He’s so damn excited about it that Alex doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he probably won’t use it. 

Though, who knows? With how happy it’s making Michael, maybe he will try it. Maybe Alex will start finding himself out here with Michael on their days off. After all, Michael’s already talking recipes that he’s excited to make once they start getting real vegetables and it does sound delicious. And while he’s tired, hungry, and sore, he does feel lighter than he has in weeks. Maybe Michael was onto something when he’d suggested that gardening was good for anxiety.

“Please tell me we get to shower now,” Alex says, helping Michael clean up the tools and put them away in the shed he’d built a few weeks back. 

“I’ve had to stand here and watch you look like that all day,” Michael says. “We’d better be doing more than showering.” 

He smiles at that, as if Michael thinks that he too hasn’t been dreaming about licking every inch of his body for the last few hours. “We should hurry while the kids are still sleeping.” 

Michael grabs Alex’s hand and pulls him into the house quickly, shedding his remaining layers as he goes while Alex laughs loudly. He honestly loves Michael so much. This time last year, he didn’t think they’d ever figure things out. He’s so incredibly glad they have. He can’t imagine his life without Michael and the little family they are building together. 

Tagged: @callieramics​, @redstalkingdeath​

If you’d like to be tagged, let me know

[thecassadilla]

Positive

Word Count: 1,659/AO3

Pairing: New Dream/Rapunzel x Eugene

Summary: Rapunzel and Eugene get the best news of their lives.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is my contribution for Day 6 of New Dream Appreciation Week - We’re Having a Baby! This is another Modern!AU because that’s my forte, apparently. Just like yesterday, this isn’t really my area of expertise - I have never been pregnant, and only one of my friends has had a baby recently. As a general disclaimer, this fic does focus on Rapunzel and Eugene unexpectedly finding out that they’re having a baby. There’s nothing graphic, or descriptive, or anything, but the implications are obvious. It’s rated T just to be safe.

She didn’t think anything of it, at first. She was just a little more tired than usual. A little was a bit of an understatement, though - she could hardly keep her eyes open every time she wasn’t moving. But they were in the process of moving from their apartment to their new house, and so she chalked it up to stress. 

She became slightly concerned when she felt lightheaded one evening after arriving home from work. She made it to the couch, and within a few seconds the feeling subsided. Once it had passed, she tried to put it behind her and went on with the rest of her day, but the thought still lingered in the back of her head. She avoided telling Eugene about it, because she knew he would freak out and she didn’t think it was something to be really concerned about. The Internet wasn’t much of a help, unsurprisingly; seeing results like ‘congestive heart failure’ quickly made her click away and not look back. 

A couple of days passed before she started to feel persistently nauseous - it wasn’t severe, but rather a constant, low level sense of discomfort. At first she blamed it on the smell of paint fumes in their new house. But the sensation never went away, and it got to the point that the sheer thought of eating was enough to make her feel sick. 

And then the realization hit her like a ton of bricks. They were sitting on the couch one night after dinner, and she was leaned up against him, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. She kept dozing off and waking up, and just as she was about to close her eyes again, her attention was brought to a commercial on the television; an advertisement for a pregnancy test. She felt herself tense up as she watched the couple on the screen smile in delight at their positive result and she felt a chill go up her spine.

“Eugene?” She asked, looking up at his face.

“Hmm?” He hummed in response.

“Did you see that?”

He looked down at her. “What?” 

“That commercial.”

“The insurance one with the talking lizard?”

“No, the one with the pregnancy test.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Uh, yeah?” 

“Have you ever thought about that?” She wondered aloud. “Thought about us having a baby?”

He shifted beneath her, and she sat up so she could get a better look at him. “Of course - I mean, if that’s what you want. I know we’ve talked about it in the past, and you’ve always said you wanted kids, but sometimes people change their minds.”

She nodded, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “I haven’t changed my mind; I still want that.”

“Great, me too,” he smiled slightly, leaning back against the couch and turning his attention back to the television for a second. When he realized that she was still staring at him, he looked back at her. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

She wasn’t able to form the words, and a strangled type of noise escaped from her throat.

“Because we could start trying, if you want,” he assured her, taking her hands in his own. “I know this probably isn’t the easiest subject to talk about.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed. 

“Or...we can wait?” He guessed, cocking a brow. “You’re giving me mixed signals here, Rapunzel.”

She took a deep breath before finally blurting out the thought that had been swirling in her head for the last two minutes. “I don’t think we have to try.”

He gave her an odd look before huffing out a laugh. “I mean, technically -”

“No,” she cut him off. “I think I’m pregnant.”

“Oh. Oh,” he said, his eyes widening at her revelation.

“I’ve just been so tired lately, like, I can’t even eat a meal anymore without my eyes closing, and I’ve just felt sick to my stomach, but I thought it was because we were painting the house and there was that time I almost passed out -”

“You almost passed out?”

“But Google said it was congestive heart failure and -”

“Congestive heart failure?!” He exclaimed, his face blanching. He looked like he was about to pass out, himself.

“I’m not dying!” She clarified, moving her hands to cup his jaw. “At least I don’t think I am. I didn’t even think that I could be pregnant until I saw that commercial, but it makes so much sense.”

He nodded slowly, unsure of what to think or say. “Right,” he finally answered. “But you don’t know for sure. We don’t know for sure.”

“No,” she sighed, dropping her hands.

“Well, what are we waiting for? We could go to the store and get a test, and we’d have an answer.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Let’s do that.”

So they took a trip to the 24-hour drug store and spent a bit of time in the “family planning” aisle, trying to decide which test to buy. They ended up choosing three different brands, and were both relieved when they walked up to the teenage cashier, who seemed to have more of an interest in her phone than what they were purchasing. The entire drive home was nerve wracking, and cloaked in an awkward silence. 

Her heart was pounding in her chest by the time they got back into the house, and she thoroughly read through the instructions on one of the tests. 

“It says it’s best to use first morning urine,” she explained, biting her lip.

“Just go for it,” he insisted. “Save the other two for tomorrow morning.”

She nodded, closing the bathroom door behind her. A few moments later, the door reopened and they found themselves sitting on the cool tile floor in front of the sink; the test out of their view and a timer set for three minutes. They sat quietly for a few moments.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, finally breaking the silence.

“I’m nervous,” she spoke up, her hand subconsciously pressed against her lower abdomen. “But I don’t know why. We’ve been married for over a year and we have a house, and everything is...stable. I guess I’m nervous because we haven’t really talked about it and it’s so unexpected.”

“Hey, I hope you're not worrying about me, sunshine,” he said, a flash of concern in his eyes. “I know this wasn’t planned, but I’ve always wanted to be a dad. I’ll be thrilled if the test comes back positive. And even if it doesn’t, and we’re on the same page, we can always try for real.”

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I'll be so happy if it's positive.”

After what felt like the longest three minutes of their lives, the timer finally beeped.

“Do you want to check? Or do you want me to?” 

“We can both look,” she said, pushing herself up off the floor. He followed suit and watched from her over her shoulder, resting a hand flat on her back. Taking a deep breath, she picked the test up from where it rested on the sink and flipped it over in her hands. She glanced down at it and got her answer; two pink lines. Positive. Pregnant.

“Oh my gosh,” she said, dropping it and bringing her hands to cover her mouth. Tears pooled in her eyes and she couldn’t contain her smile.

“We’re having a baby!” Eugene exclaimed excitedly, wrapping his arms around her. 

“I can’t believe this,” she cried, the tears cascading down her cheeks. “I’m just so happy.”

“We’re going to be parents,” he gushed. “This time next year there will be a tiny human here. Our tiny human.”

“Our baby,” she beamed. 

“We’ll have to dedicate a room for the nursery. And buy baby stuff. We’ll have to come up with a name. There’s so much to do!”

“Not tonight, though, I’m too tired,” she giggled, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “But I’m so excited. More than excited. I don’t even know how to put what I’m feeling into words.”

“Just a few hours ago, I didn’t even know this was possible. That this was going to happen,” he said. “I really can’t believe it. In a couple of months, there’ll be a third person living here.”

“February,” she confirmed. “I did the math in the car - the baby will be born in February.”

“Oh god, we don’t have that much time then,” he remarked, sounding slightly panicked.

She laughed. “Eugene, it’s June. We literally have eight months.”

“I better start practicing my dad jokes,” he added. 

She shook her head at him, still grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll have to call the doctor tomorrow and find out what we do next.”

“This is literally the best day of my life,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, our wedding day is right up there next to it, but nothing can beat this.”

“This is the best day ever,” she corrected. “I can’t believe I was so nervous. And I can’t believe this is real.”

“I was not expecting the day to end like this at all. I think I’m in shock.”

She yawned, then, and reached up to rub her eyes. “I really hate to cut this short but I am absolutely exhausted and I’m about to fall asleep standing here.”

“I don’t know how you can sleep; I’m definitely not going to be able to sleep tonight,” he chuckled.

“You don’t have a baby draining all of your energy,” she pointed out with a laugh, her hand fluttering to her lower abdomen. 

He placed his hand over hers and smiled. “Let’s get you to bed, then.”

“I love you so much,” she smiled back, suddenly throwing her arms around his neck.

"I love you, too," he promised, lifting her off the ground and squeezing her. “I can’t believe we’re going to be parents.”

[cake-writes]

Six (3/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (Bucky), Eating Disorder (Reader), Fluff, Slow Burn, 18+

Summary: Bucky knew that there were more important things for him to worry about. Of course he did. He still had to work through the horrors of his past, never mind his present, which was the exact reason why he honed right in on your petty bullshit. You distracted him from the things he didn’t want to think about. You also drove him up a fucking wall.

Part Two / Master List

The work week continued to drag on, and predictably, Steve didn’t give you any extra time off no matter how much you wished for it. On top of that, you had to make up your time from Tuesday, but that was fine. You finally had something to keep your thoughts occupied. In between the emails and filing, you started to wonder what Bucky’s ulterior motive was. He wouldn’t have just bought you something for no reason, would he? He couldn’t stand you, just like you couldn’t stand him.

Right?

Deep down, you knew that was a lie. He was starting to grow on you. He’d remembered – and even though you made him take the truffles back, he didn’t seem offended by it at all. He just wanted to know why. It may have been his version of an olive branch, just like breakfast had been yours.

And, well, you knew him. As much as the two of you didn’t get along, you knew that he was an honest person. He’d always been honest, maybe to a fault sometimes. You used to hate that about him, but now… now you kind of didn’t.

It was sweet.

He was sweet.

At least, that was what you thought until dinner on Thursday night. Around the table sat Sam, Bucky, and Natasha; everyone else was on a mission and for that, you were grateful. Fewer eyes meant less of a chance that someone would notice you weren’t eating.

Conversation was light and breezy, what with the boys discussing the mission they’d just returned from a couple of days prior. Normally you would have been interested, but you didn’t want to know anything about it because you were still stuck on desk duty. You already felt pretty useless as it was, and hearing about the mess they’d found themselves in made you feel even worse. If Dr. Cho wasn’t so stubborn, you could have been there. You could have helped.

Resting your chin on your hand, you pushed around the food on your plate but made no attempt to eat it. Sam had made his mother’s famous meatloaf, which was delicious enough for, well, meatloaf. You had a bite here and there to appease your cramping stomach, but you couldn’t make yourself eat more than that even though you desperately needed to.

Then a foot gently nudged yours under the table, and you glanced up to find Bucky looking at you with his head tilted just slightly to the side, concern evident on his face as he whispered, “You’re still not eating?”

You immediately bristled at the sensitive topic, unable to keep the bite out of your tone when you quietly responded, “I’m not hungry.”

The last thing you needed was for anyone else to pick up on your fucked-up eating habits. The fact that Bucky already had was bad enough, and, quite frankly, it was irritating that he was still getting on your case about it. You couldn’t even have a glass of juice without him asking questions, let alone a meal.

“Not a dinner person either, then?”

His question was innocent enough, but you bristled anyway. He just wouldn’t leave it alone. You loudly dropped your fork onto your plate, metal clattering against china right before you shoved your chair back from the table. “I said I’m not hungry.”

Another day, another argument. Nothing had changed at all.

“I think I’m gonna take that as an insult,” Sam teased in a clear attempt to diffuse the situation, nodding to your full plate.

You knew that he was just joking, but the smile you offered him was tight-lipped and tense. “It’s good, Sam. I’m just not hungry anymore, thanks to someone.”

Then you shot Bucky another look, clearly blaming your lack of appetite on him. It wasn’t his fault, and you knew that, but you needed an excuse – needed someone to blame because you felt guilty for wasting Sam’s efforts. It wasn’t often that any of you had a nice home-cooked meal. With everyone’s weird hours and all the last-minute missions, takeout was far more common around the compound.

Unsurprisingly, your accusation set Bucky off. “What the hell did I do? I just asked—”

“I know what you asked,” you interrupted, crossing your arms. “Take a hint, Barnes. Stop asking.”

“How can I?” He pulled himself to his feet, too, blue eyes heated on yours. “You look even worse now than when you passed out, and you think I’m just gonna ignore that?”

“You passed out?” Natasha asked, brows raised, looking over from Bucky to you. “When?”

You grit your teeth. “A week ago. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit, you’re fine.” Bucky came around to your side of the table, then, but you somehow stood your ground despite his barrage of questions. “Why aren’t you back in the field? Come on, sweetheart, tell me. Why are you still on desk duty? Medical haven’t cleared you yet, have they?”

Why hadn’t you ever noticed how tall he was until now?

“That’s none of your fucking business,” you spat, feeling your face flush – but whether it was from anger or embarrassment, you weren’t sure.

Even you could hear the frustration in his voice when he spoke again, “Sure it is. You make me breakfast one day, scream at me the next, and now you wanna blame me for whatever’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours. The hell’s your problem?”

You always knew when you managed to rile him up because his accent came out – and sure enough, there it was. You used to get some sick sort of pleasure out of it, because once upon a time you enjoyed pissing him off. Not now, you didn’t. Now, it bothered you to know that you had, and what’s worse was that you hated feeling this way.

This was Bucky Barnes. Your enemy. The one person you absolutely could not stand.

Right?

Those annoying thoughts were what prompted you to shove him hard in the shoulder, hissing, “You’re my problem!”

“Okay, okay, let’s all calm down,” Sam smoothly intervened, stepping between the two of you just like he’d done so many times in the past. Natasha was behind you, too, ready to step in if required. They’d broken up your arguments so many times, you’d long lost count.

You and Bucky glared at each other for another moment or two before you turned heel and stormed out of the room, bitter and angry and on the verge of tears. He just wouldn’t let it go.

He never let it go.

When you started up the stairs, a sob escaped you – one that only Bucky could hear.

He found you a little while later on the rooftop.

That was where you usually went to cool down after a fight, a fact that Bucky only knew because he liked to go there, too. The fresh air calmed him, made him feel a little more grounded. In contrast, the starry sky was a gentle reminder that he was just a drop in the ocean in the grand scheme of things.

This, too, would pass, just like everything else.

Even in the moonlight, he could see that your eyes were still red-rimmed from crying. That was the exact reason he came up here tonight. The last time he made you cry, he never really had a chance to apologize. No, that was a lie. He had plenty of chances, but he chose not to, and as a result he’d nearly gotten you killed.

Not this time.

What surprised him was that he found you journaling. He’d never thought of you as an introspective person, because he’d always been too focused on what was on the surface: shallow, self-serving behaviour that drove him up a wall. It still did, but in recent days he’d started to believe otherwise. Sometimes you were tolerable, maybe even kind.

Judging by the hasty scribbling of your pen right now, though, you were still angry. That wasn’t a surprise.

After a quiet few moments, you stopped writing. “What do you want?”

The way Bucky approached you was hesitant, almost reluctant. He didn’t know what to say. Food was clearly a sensitive topic for you, a theory he’d tested tonight at dinner. Whenever the two of you argued in recent days, it was always about food – or the lack thereof, and when he really thought about it, he hadn’t seen you eat a full meal in weeks.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” was what he finally settled on. It was the truth.

At that, you glanced up from your journal and studied him for a second or two. He might have found it unnerving, had he not been so blindsided by the look on your face – complete exhaustion, like you were tired of fighting.

He was too. Six months of it was more than enough.

Then you turned back to your journal. The act was dismissive, almost, but your tone was entirely too quiet, too honest for a dismissal. “Well, you did.”  

Bucky knew he did. The difference was that you weren’t usually this honest with him about it. He certainly wasn’t proud of the way he reacted to your stupid accusation. Personal attacks weren’t his style, but he’d gone right for the jugular about your desk duty. He knew that it would be a sore spot because of how much you enjoyed field work, and he went there anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he acquiesced, and he meant it.

Even still, he was concerned for your welfare. Your reaction tonight told him everything he needed to know: that Dr. Cho really hadn’t signed off on your return to the field. Bucky had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the fact that you weren’t eating, not that it was any of his business because you were right; it wasn’t.

“Do you want to know why I didn’t want those truffles?” you asked suddenly, focusing not on him but on your pen as you rolled it back and forth in between your fingertips. He’d noticed a long time ago that you had a tendency to fidget with things when you were nervous.

Why were you nervous?

“If you want to tell me,” he responded carefully.

Chewing on your lower lip, you pat the spot next to you on the blanket: an invitation to sit.

Bucky swallowed thickly as he took a seat beside you, doing his best to ignore the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. Not only had he never seen you quite like this, but it felt strangely intimate to enter your space like this. The two of you weren’t friends, but you wanted him to join you anyway.

The strangest thing was that he didn’t mind at all.

You sat in silence for a little while, drumming your fingers on the hard cover of your journal – and then you leaned back on your hands to peer up at the starry sky. “Hey, have you ever heard the term ‘eating disorder’?”

A simple, “No,” was his reply. That was the truth, too.

The small, wistful smile you offered him made his heart ache.

“Makes sense. If I was around in the 40’s, I’d probably be in an asylum,” you told him, before you snorted derisively, like that was meant to be a joke. Even he could tell that it wasn’t really. “Basically, uh… I have some trouble with eating, yeah? So whenever you bring it up, I freak out a little. Sometimes more than a little.”

Well, that explained a lot.

“I’m so sorry, doll,” he said again, softer this time. “I didn’t know.”

The gentle tone he used with you made you want to cry – and as a matter of fact, it did. Your vision quickly blurred with tears, and you hugged your knees to your chest, feeling entirely too vulnerable. You weren’t even sure why you were telling him this. It wasn’t like he cared.

Right?

“I should be the one apologizing to you,” you sniffled, hugging your legs just a little tighter. “This is my fault, not yours.”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is.” His hand gently came to rest on your shoulder, and although you could sense the hesitation in his touch, it quickly disappeared when you didn’t pull away. “We all have problems. What matters is how we deal with them.”

Through the thin fabric of your t-shirt, his hand was large and warm as it trailed down your back, and up again – gentle strokes meant to comfort. It wasn’t often that you were treated so kindly, and by Bucky, no less.

Somehow, you didn’t mind it.

When you chanced another look over at him, his eyes were soft on yours and so stunning in the moonlight that you found yourself wanting to make amends – maybe even wanting to be friends.

“Nice pep talk,” you teased with a watery smile. “I think Steve’s rubbing off on you.”

At that, he laughed. You’d never heard him laugh before, not really, but you loved the sound of it. Even with everything he’d been through, you were kind of awestruck that he still managed to see the humour in things. 

“How do you know I’m not the one rubbing off on him?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Please. This is Steve we’re talking about.”

When you saw those lovely blue eyes of his twinkling with amusement, there was another unrecognizable flutter in your chest. He didn’t say anything in response; just continued to stroke your back as you rubbed away the tears and snot from your face, probably smearing your makeup but you didn’t care. This was Bucky, after all.

Well, maybe you did care. 

A little.

“God, I’m a mess,” you muttered, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Sorry. Here I am spilling my life’s story to you, and you’re too nice to tell me you don’t care.”

His hand stopped, then, and you looked over at him, about to apologize for the umpteenth time over how abrasive that sounded – but he just offered you the slightest hint of a smile and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The pleasant feeling of his fingers against your flushed cheek made your heart race.

“I do care,” he told you, before he slowly brought his hand back to his side.

For some reason, you found yourself missing his touch.

“Why?” you asked stupidly.

He shrugged, before he countered your question with one of his own. “Why do you have trouble eating?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, laying down on the blanket for a better view of the sky – a distraction. “My therapist used to say it’s all about control, but I don’t know. Haven’t been in awhile.”

Control. He could definitely empathize. “Why not?”

“I didn’t want to get, uh… What’s the term? 4-F’d?”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at that, too – a genuine laugh, and for the first time, you laughed along with him. The sound of it warmed his heart, but that warmth quickly faded away as the somber reality of your situation sank in. You didn’t want to stop working in the field. What he’d dredged up at dinner ran deeper than he could have imagined.

“I shouldn’t have asked about medical,” he admitted. “You’re right. It’s none of my business.”

“Sure it is. I got hurt on a mission with you.”

Bucky frowned and looked away. His guilt was still there. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if he’d been paying more attention. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt – but because of him, you had, just like all the others over the last seventy-odd years.

He tensed up when your small hand came to rest on his arm, but the kindness behind it made him feel at ease, especially when you echoed his own words from earlier, “We all have our problems, Bucky. Stop blaming yourself, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

That was something he’d learned in therapy, but never had it sounded so… right.

Part Four

[anthonyjoesison]

Makers of Music

“To the makers of music - all worlds, all times.”

-The Voyager Golden Records

This blog post is not a formal or argumentative essay (which I would expect to be the dominant essay type in the upcoming weeks). Rather, this is an exercise in meditation. 

I can’t sleep. Why?

I’ve been working on a short film for the past few days. My OCD and unwillingness to share anything short of perfection (yes, I am unapologetically anal about putting any piece of writing, video, etc. out into the public that isn’t the absolute best I have to give) has turned a project that was intended to be enjoyable and self-reflective into a stress-inducing and time-consuming commitment. 

So I can’t sleep because I have an urge to return to my laptop and continue to narrate, film and edit. But I also can’t sleep because I can’t help but lay awake pondering the self-imposed questions I will have to answer if I want to see this short-film come to life.

I’ve taken to Tumblr because if I told my friends I couldn’t sleep, they’d assume a worst case scenario (which would typically be the aptly titled “Sad Boy Hours”) and if I told my parents I’d reinforce their concerns that I worry too much (which candidly, I do).

I wish not to reveal anything unnecessary of the short film, but I do find it appropriate to share the questions that I lie awake pondering.

If you had to choose the pictures, videos, sounds, poems, books, paintings, music, and knowledge that best represent you, what would you choose?

To some the question requires little to no hesitation. To others it is unanswerable, if among many reasons it is because it leads to many more questions and dilemmas. I am unsurprisingly a member of the latter.

How can you craft a fair representation of your past self…your future self? Do they not share equal fragments in your whole existence? Likewise, would you choose the pieces that exemplify your imperfect self? Or would you wish to only share representations of your ideal self?

The aforementioned question and the many that follow it are at the heart of what I seek to tap into through the course of this short film and is inspired by my favorite story of human finitude: the Voyager Program.

Briefly, the Voyager Program was a project by NASA that launched two space probes, Voyager 1 and Voyager 2, in August and September of 1977. The Voyager’s central mission was the flyby and scientific observations of the outer planets (and their respective moons, rings, etc.) of our Solar System.

The mission was successful in sending back hundreds of important measurements, data points, and photographs (perhaps most famously, is the Pale Blue Dot photograph that captures Earth as indeed a “pale blue dot” amidst the vast emptiness of space). Beyond this already exceptional body of work, NASA had the foresight that upon completion of the central mission, Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 would not cease drifting into interstellar space. 

Thus, NASA appointed Dr. Carl Sagan as the chair of a committee that was tasked with creating a time capsule to represent humanity in the event that either Voyagers would be intercepted by intelligent, extraterrestrial life.

The result of Dr. Sagan and Co.’s efforts? The Golden Record. A collection of 115 images, 90 minutes of humanity’s greatest music, a plethora of Earth’s natural sounds, and human greetings in over 55 languages, all pressed onto a 12” gold-plated copper disk (complete with incredibly meticulous and well-thought instructions for playback).

I have gone over how difficult it would be to choose the creative media to represent just ourselves as individuals. Can one bring themself to imagine the unprecedented challenge that Dr. Sagan’s team faced?

Presiding over the entire project must’ve been the reality that it is improbable that such extraterrestrial life exists that hears, sees, and processes information in human-like manner. Further, one would imagine there must have been increasing pressure to include (and exclude) the appropriate facets of the human experience and the pinnacles of human creativity, in an ethical and responsible manner.

However, this wasn’t the case. In an article for the New Yorker in August of 2017, Timothy Ferris, producer of the Golden Record, reflects with fondness. In detailing the experience of selecting humanity’s music, Ferris writes: “We’d comb through all this music individually, then meet and go over our nominees in long discussions stretching into the night. It was exhausting, involving, utterly delightful work.” Sounds a lot like the late night music sessions I’d have with my friends.

It would dishearten me if my description of creating a short film and a Golden Record for my own life (“stress inducing” and “time consuming”) were taken out of context. While Dr. Sagan and Timothy Ferris worked in the face of bureaucratic deadlines and regulation, they did their job with a passion and care that is metaphorically represented in the enduring life of the records. (The records are expected to remain playable for over a billion years).

I work with no boss other than myself. As a good friend once reminded me, “You’re your own worst critic”. My project is stressful and time-consuming because I, like almost every human being before me has and every human being after me will, look towards the night sky with awe, asking in silence more questions about the meaning and purpose of one’s place and existence in the universe as we know it.

I am not exceptional. (One of my favorite college essays I wrote was for the University of Washington, detailing a trip to Yosemite National Park which doubled as the first time I had ever seen the night sky proper). When compared to the infinitude of space, our physical and temporal limitations are baffling. 

While I don’t believe that this project will convince me otherwise, I am not appealing to the anti-humanists in the crowd. The uncompromising reality of a universe indifferent to the wishes of men must not be made analogous to remarks similar to philosopher John Gray’s in his 2003 book Straw Dogs: “If we speak of the history of the human species at all, it is only to signify the unknowable sum of these lives. As with other animals, some lives are happy, others are wretched. None has a meaning beyond itself.” 

This is crucial because the Voyagers and Golden Records (and to a significantly smaller scale my short film and construction of a time capsule of my own) are exemplary of the very best in human nature. Humans at their best are curious, self-reflective, and wish to see new horizons. As Carl Sagan himself noted: “The launching of this bottle (Voyagers 1 and 2) into the cosmic ocean says something very hopeful about life on this planet."

Some may denounce time pondering the Voyager Program in the midst of the challenges we the human species face as wasted time. One may reference not only the global pandemic, but a difficult grappling with issues of race within the United State (where I write this), the blatant neglect for the Earth’s climate and natural resources, and rising xenophobia throughout even the world’s most developed countries.

In response, I feel a need to share that I too am acutely aware of the hardships we face. I recently read Richard Haas’ The World: A Brief Introduction (Think of the book as an Introduction to Foreign Policy/Globalization for Dummies). Each chapter ended with a section titled “Looking Ahead” in which he summarized the future prospects of the region, development, etc. Reading that book left me existential angst, for almost every chapter concluded with dreadful prospects for the future of humanity.

However, let us remember the message attached to Voyager 1 by then United State’s President Jimmy Carter. It reads: “This is a present from a small distant world, a token of our sounds, our science, our images, our music, our thoughts, and our feelings. We are attempting to survive our time so we may live into yours. We hope someday, having solved the problems we face, to join a community of galactic civilizations. This record represents our hope and our determination, and our good will in a vast and awesome universe.” 

Perhaps, in our most intimate moments when we acquaint ourselves with our uncertainty over the meaning and purpose of our existence, we may remind ourselves that like Voyager, we too are stewards to the future of humanity. And like Voyager, we too are encouraged to observe and remember the awesome music, sounds, peoples, places, and knowledge along the way.

-Joe Sison (July 4th, 2020)

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Take Two (part 6)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Part 7: here

Unsurprisingly, trying to stop 'feeling feelings' is easier said than done, leading to more frustration, which in turn results in more lightning. Arthur is practically a sentient ball of electricity,  bits and pieces of himself jumping uncontrollably all over the place, by the time he finally snaps in annoyance, "Can't you do that red-flashy-eye thing."

His voice is weirdly distorted, disembodied. How is he speaking? He doesn't even have a mouth! Not that he had had one before...but still! A wave of static ripples away, breaking against the van walls.

Mystery snorts, /I could, but this is a good learning experience. / All his fur is sticking upright, a response to the static in the air, puffing, giving the dog a rounded appearance. It would be funny if Arthur weren't so aggravated.

"Is this something I really have to learn right now." Shouldn't he first acquaint himself with the whole 'being dead' thing?

/Yes. The quicker you acclimatise, the happier you will be./

"Or…" Arthur retorts, drawing out the word, "how about I not acclimatise. Didn't want to be happy anyway. Problem solved."

Mystery, sitting at the centre of his mini electric infernal, gives him a critical, unimpressed stare over his tiny dog-sized glassed. Arthur thinks it's odd that he knows what Mystery is doing despite now being a collection of sentient, unformed, Arthur particles. He has no eyes. How is he seeing?

/Try clearing your mind. The less you think, the less you will find yourself preoccupied./ Mystery offers like it is that easy, still sitting, unaffected by the increasingly chaotic environment.

"Meditation," Arthur bemoans, disgruntled and growing increasingly stressed, "Why is the answer always meditation?" A lot of the therapists he'd seen recommended meditative activities and he always sucked at them all.

/Everything new is difficult at first. Trust me in this. / Mystery reiterates patiently, /Now. Clear your mind. /

"You know. 'Clearing your mind' is super vague. How is a person just supposed to stop thinking?"  

Mystery, a little exasperated now, is frowning at Arthur like he's missed the answer to a grade-school level question. Around them, the lightning grows increasingly sporadic and pronounced. He knows he is acting stubborn, but these last few minutes have been a rollercoaster of emotion and it's catching up to him all at once. The regret, sadness, fear, and now helpless frustration all mix together into a discordant mess.  The prospect of meeting Lewis again after so long apart, the realisation that this is his reality, dissatisfaction at not being able to do better. It all competes for his attention.  He wants it to stop. Visions of angry, dead, Lewis, flash past and his soul tightens. No. It's not his fault. Mystery said it was a 'parasitic entity.' He should trust Mystery. Doubt gnaws at this thoughts, festering, fluctuating to regret. Purple flame colours all mind.

/This is not going well./ He registers Mystery's offhand remark and doesn't respond. A  renewed wave of regret crashes into him, whipping away his mind.

/Arthur./ Mystery's voice is loud and intense, pulling him back from the haze of cacophonous emotion, /I know you believe that you hold fault for your recent misfortunes and merely telling you otherwise will not change your thoughts on the matter. However, I would like to say, from my own perspective, that you appear to be handling your circumstances remarkably well. Not many humans can say they transversed the currents of time for the simple purpose of saving a friend, while simultaneously keeping their will and sanity./

As far as pep talks go, it kind of sucks. But, it does give Arthur something else to focus on that's not his recent failures or regrets. He forces his attention back onto Mystery, waiting for whatever else he might say. Now, he finds himself too scattered and disembodied to talk, meaning he must remain in silence.

/Obviously, 'clearing the mind' was insufficient instruction./ Mystery states the obvious. /Instead, I would have you focus on a single point and envision yourself standing on said point. When you find your mind wondering to any distressing subject switch to a new position. /

Unbalanced, and now weirdly exhausted, Arthur follows the instruction. He picks a spot in the van and concentrates. Slowly, he pulls himself together. Bit by bit, the lightning condensed in one place, calming now Arthur's no longer fueling it with self-doubt.  It's a slow process which leaves him fatigued and completely done with everything. When he does manage piece himself together and reconstruct something vaguely human-shaped, he finds himself lying flat on his back, staring up at the van's roof. There are multiple darkened patches where it has been hit by the larger bolts of electricity. Everything is heavy like gravity's been dialled up to eleven.

"Why can't I move?" Arthur asks tiredly, trying and failing to shift any of his limbs.  Just when he thinks he's getting used to one weird ghost quirk, another follows close behind.

/You expended a lot of energy. Do not fear. The paralysis is temporary./ Out the corner of his eye, he sees Mystery approach and proceed to sniff at Arthur's limp arm. 

/Though success can be partly attributed to exhaustion. It is still a success. Congratulations on not completely destabilising./ The sound of claws clicking on metal vibrates near his head. Arthur shoots Mystery a tired glare. A second later, a nose is prodding at his face, snuffling along his hairline.

"Stop that," Arthur finds the energy needed to limply bat at the dog with his arm, "You know it's super weird, right?" An amused snuff of air near his face tells him that Mystery does know and is definitely doing it on purpose.

"I don't think I can do this with Vivi or Lewis around," He comments after a beat, choosing to remain motionless on the ground, too spent to attempt any more movement.

"And I'm not saying it to get out of meeting them either. I really don't think I can control this right now."  If all it took were a few wayward emotions to turn him into an inferno of electric death, then there was no way would be able to safely see Lewis again.

"I'm amazed I didn't accidentality kill all three of them in the Cave." In his rush to save younger Arthur and Lewis, he hadn't even considered the possible adverse effects of lightning on his friends.

Mystery huffs, using a paw to flick the side of his head in a very human-like gesture,  /I will not take that complete lack of faith in my ability as the insult it would be, considering my poor track record. Rest assured, there will be no unsupervised human and ghost interactions until I am 100% satisfied with your control./

"Great," Arthur mutters, too tired to argue further. Maybe later, he would feel more thankful for Mystery's help and guidance. Right now he's exhausted on every level.

"Can I go back into the… my err…" He hesitates because saying the word 'anchor' feels weird and makes everything a little too real, "…thingamajig now.” Surely, he's done enough soul searching for one day.

Mystery doesn't correct his choice of phrasing, instead remarking, /I would ask you to wait a moment longer./

Arthur groans, "A moment longer? Why?"

The answer comes with a loud bang on the van doors. Arthur jolts, twitching, fatigue momentarily forgotten, eyes widening. That can't be who he thinks it is. A familiar voice yells from the other side of the door, immediately proving his suspicion correct.

"Hey. Are you done yet! Hospital visiting hours ended twenty minutes ago!"

That's Vivi.

NOTE: People seem to like this fic so here you go, more Ghost Arthur working through his shit and Mystery trying his best to be supportive.  

Part 7: here

[imaginethisblackbutler]

Claude Thing

For those who need a little something for whatever life's throwing at them.

__________

You were secluded in your room, sitting at your desk with your head in your hands. There was so much stuff to do and so little time to do them in; the weight of doing everything was basically crushing you at this point. Just when you thought that you'd finish everything, Life just had to throw you off with something else or pile onto your already-full plate with random crap. How long was this stupid game gonna go on for?

Hearing a gentle knock on your study door, you mutter an acknowledgement to the person beyond the door. You peered up to see your butler, Claude Faustus, quietly wheel in a cart with your favorite food and drink resting on it. His ice-cold expression clung onto his face like a mask as he placed a hand to his chest and bowed slightly. No matter how many times you told him that bowing to you wasn't all that necessary, he continued doing it. If it wasn't for his excellent work ethic, always keeping your estate clean, and just impressing you with almost-everything he did, you would have kicked him out by now. You gave a small sigh and sat up, resting your chin on the palm of your hand.

"I don't mean to interrupt you, Your Grace," he spoke in his usual dull tone, "however you've been working quite hard these past few days. While I do admire your productivity, it seems to me that you need more breaks."

Oh dear lord, this discussion. You rolled your eyes and gave him a slightly-irritated look. "No. I need to get all this squared away first. I can rest on my spare time."

The pale butler paused for a moment, staring at you with his cold molten-gold irises as if looking for the proper words to say. He wasn't intimidated by you in the slightest, since you were only a human and he was a demon. If he had the motivation and no contract to stop him, he could have easily killed you with a small flick of his wrist. And you wouldn't even know if he was scheming against you because of his bloody face; he was like a statue! Unexpressioned, unfeeling. It almost made you want to punch him to see if his face would change.

Claude pushed his glasses up a bit. "Please don't be stubborn about this. You know you get so absorbed in your own work to the point you lose track of time and you never end up resting."

"Yeah? And?" You raised your voice a bit, wanting nothing more than to shove him out. "I have deadlines to meet and they're not that far away from today. If I were to slack off now, it'd mean less time to finish and more stress on my end."

"Yes, however your health takes priority in this situation," he countered whilst bringing his hands behind his back. "Pushing yourself so hard will result in a burnout, which I'm sure is the last thing you'd want."

You scoffed at his warning, turning your chair so the back of it faced him. Yeah, like he could muster a damn to give if you were to exhaust yourself. Serves him right to say such things when he had no trouble calling you a 'weak little creature' when you made the contract with the pale butler. You could feel his eyes on your seat as you picked up a couple papers and looked through them. Well, you would have if they weren't snatched from your hands. You opened your mouth to say something, only to gasp as your chair was turned back to face a stone-faced Claude.

"With all due respect," his voice was level, however you knew you were starting to get on his nerves, "I cannot let you work any longer. I assure you will get all of this sorted out, however this is not the way to go about it."

You were about to say something until a gloved finger was pressed against your lips, causing you to flinch slightly. Not once did he ever make any sort of physical contact with you, except that single brief moment when he helped you into your coat that one time. With his movements to hush you being so nature, it was a whole other kind of new with a hint of weird.

His tone was as low as it was firm, which was unsurprisingly fitting for his overall demeanor. "Listen to me well, human, because I'm only going to say this once. You will get through this. Perhaps it's a bit rough right now, but it will subside. You already have some of the work done already and you haven't even slowed down since this morning. A short break won't kill you, unlike the amount of stress you're putting yourself through.

Now you have a choice. You can either pull away from your work for five minutes and allow yourself some time to breathe or I will be forced to physically pull you out of this chair and lock you in your room until you're well rested. Which is it going to be?"

His golden gaze bore right into yours, never wavering as you felt an uneasy shudder scuttle up your spine and curl around your stomach. The slight burning in your chest reminded you that you were holding your breath as he spoke, so you took a deep breath and sighed.

"Fine," you said in defeat. "But only for five minutes. Any longer and I'm not stopping until I have my work done."

Only after you said this did he finally pull away. After a silent nod, Claude pulled the cart over as you made a spot on your desk for your snack. The mere sight of your favorite food was enough for the uneasiness to vanish and your stomach to growl. In response, a quiet sigh came from the butler.

"What?" You asked, raising a brow at him.

He looked back at you. "Nothing, Your Grace."

As he left for you to devour upon your blessed food, Claude shook his head. If he wasn't a demon, you and your stubbornness would have grayed his hair an ashy-silver. Not that he minded, though. After all your soul was his for the taking and as long as that was the case, it was good enough for him.

[hoseokjinnies-blog]

oh my god, they were roommates chapter 1

cross posting w my ao3

ship: soekjin x yoongi x reader

warnings: none

tropes: roommates, friends to lovers, slow burn, poly ship.

summary: I can't do summaries and I haven't written a fanfic since I was 13 but consider, bc I'm a dumb bitch and double biased with yoongi and jin: you, jin, and yoongi are all friends. you and yoongi have been friends since childhood, and you both met jin your freshman year of college. mayhaps everyone has a crush on everyone, but no one is really sure/everyone's big chickens.

words: 2,761

With a huff you set the box down on the counter, taking a moment to brush some hair out of your face. You could feel yourself getting hotter as the room felt stuffy in the summer heat, the front door being held open by another box not doing much to help with the temperature.

Grabbing the box cutter off the counter, you sliced the tape open before pressing the sides down to have access to the contents inside; a majority of your dishes. Reaching in you grabbed a few, setting them off to the side, choosing to empty the whole box before you began to unwrap the paper protecting them.

Hearing voices from the hallway outside the front door your head snapped up, watching as your roommates walked in with even more boxes in their arms, groaning from the weight and the heat.

“Your box was so much lighter,” Seokjin whined, still bent over as he attempted to even out his breathing.

Yoongi responded with a scoff, fingers tugging through his slightly sweat damped hair. “My last three boxes were heavier than the one you just brought up; stop whining.”

With a roll of your eyes, you made your way to the fringe, pulling out two water bottles before heading towards the boys. “Relax,” you spoke as you stood between them, hands outstretched towards both of them. “You’re both carrying your weight; don’t let the heat and stress make you guys too grouchy.”

The boys both fell quiet as they drank their waters, continuing to try and cool down as you made your way back over to the counter to continue with your own task of putting away dishes.

“How many more boxes are there?” You asked as you began to unwrap the bowls.

“Only one,” Jin answered, gaze on your hands as he watched you work. He always found himself amazed by your hands; how everything they did seemed so gentle.

You hummed in response as your eyes went back to them, seeing how they seemed much more relaxed, but still exhausted. They had the harder job in the move: carrying the boxes up while you began to organize and unpack. It would be nice to have the moving boxes up part of the move done after having been doing it for the last five hours.

As your attention settled on your best friend, you could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “Rock paper scissors to decide who has to bring the last box up.” Leave it to Yoongi to want to use the game to make the decision.

“Yah,” Jin responded, head tipped back in annoyance. Though not even a moment later he was in position, ready to play. “Best two out of three.”

The other man nodded in agreement, getting in position as well as you chuckled, leaning your elbows on the counter and then your head on your hands as you watched.

Yoongi won the first round, but Seokjin won the second. Turning his head towards you, he asked if you wanted to bet on who would win. With another laugh, you shook your head, responding that you wanted to stay out of it.

The third round ended in Yoongi’s victory and you were given a gummy smile as a result. Not a moment later, he was laying on the floor, sighing at the feel of the cool hardwood against his skin. “Good luck, hyung.”

Jin shook his head, grumbling as he set his water bottle down before heading out the door to retrieve the last box, and you resumed your task with the dishes.

“Why didn’t you bet on me?” You hear Yoongi whine from his spot on the floor. “Some best friend you are.”

Rolling your eyes at his dramatic antics, you took a moment before responding. “Oh, bubs,” You cooed. “You know I’m always on your side.” And, as you both knew, it was the truth.

You’d been best friends since childhood, meeting when you were just six years old, and you’d been thick as thieves since then. The longest you’d ever been a part was when your family took a three-week trip to visit family when you guys were sixteen.

“It’s exhausting,” you heard a new voice comment, knowing Jin had made his way up to the apartment with the last box. “I can never win with you two on the same side all the time; I’m always the odd one out.”

Giving a small shrug of your shoulders you turn around to place the bowls in the cabinet. “Sometimes you guys team up against me; it’s not always against you.”

Despite the fact that the three of you were great friends, it was true that Yoongi and you were the closest. But that could be chalked up to the length of your friendship. You’d both met Jin at the same time during your freshman year of college, the boys being assigned as roommates in the dorm.

The friendship had been natural in its progression since you and Yoongi were always together, and much like the two of you, he had moved away from home for school and didn’t really know anyone else. After only a few weeks of knowing him, it was clear to you that the three of you would get along very well, and it has proved to be true.

Three years later and your friendship was still just as strong if anything it felt like the bond between the three of you was growing continuously.

“The three of us never all agree,” Yoongi spoke up, finally pulling himself up off the floor, moving the box that was holding the door open away with his foot so the door could finally close. “Someone’s always getting teamed up against.”

It was true, but luckily real arguments or problems rarely came up.

“You guys should go rest,” you suggested. They’d been working for hours in the heat, and there was no rush to get the move finished just yet. “Take a nap or a rest and then we can figure out what we wanna do for dinner.”

Seokjin hummed in response, nodding as he said that it sounded like a good idea before excusing himself to his room.

“What about you?” Yoongi asked as he made his way into the kitchen, finishing off the water in his water bottle before refilling it.

You shrugged, “I’ll just keep unpacking.”

While you were tired, you knew that if you let yourself lay down you would just sleep for the rest of the night. It was better to keep going for a few more hours and then sleep through the night.

Yoongi paused before nodding, stopping to press a kiss to the side of your head before heading towards his room. “Don’t forget to relax a little bit too, yeah, ___?” He called over his shoulder.

Smiling at his concern, you nodded. “Don’t worry about me, Yoon, it's just unpacking.”

Though you threw your hands up in surrender when he shot you a look, which resulted in him smiling at you. “Good girl.”

And with that, you were left alone to your work. Grabbing your phone, you took a moment to decide on what you wanted to listen to, eventually deciding on your most recent playlist. With the music and the boys out of the room and unable to serve as a distraction, it was easy for you to get into the swing of things.

As you carried on, you couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed that you guys had decided to move at the start of the summer where it was already so hot. However, you guys didn’t have much of a choice with the lease for the last apartment ending at the same time as the semester did.

You were grateful to be out of the old apartment, though. It had served you three well for the last school year, and for it being the first time any of you had actually moved into an apartment as opposed to the dorms.

Getting an apartment together had seemed like the best choice for the three of you. Yoongi and Jin had stuck together as roommates from freshman year on; they just fit so well together. And, of course, you were an addition. Rarely spending time at your own dorm except to sleep, and even then you often found yourself falling asleep at the boys after so many late nights both studying and just hanging out.

The first apartment had been relatively close to campus, which was a bonus. However, it was only two rooms. Of course, the boys had ended up in one room, though you did almost offer to share with Yoongi instead. It didn’t seem like a crazy idea to you, and besides, Jin was the oldest, it would’ve made sense for him to have his own space.

Instead, things remained as usual; the boys as ‘eternal roommates’ as they often joked of being and you in your own room, which you definitely didn’t mind. You had worried that maybe the three of you living together would be awkward, or change the dynamic of your friendship, but nothing had really changed. You guys were such a good fit together, there was rarely anything to complain about.

But the lease on that apartment was only for the school year, and you had all agreed that you weren’t particularly interested in going back home that summer. Looking for a longer lease gave you more options, and you felt beyond lucky to have found the apartment you guys did. It was a bit farther from campus, but not too bad, and you all had your own rooms.

A ten-minute longer bus ride to campus was worth it for everyone to have their own space.

After an hour or two, you had a majority of the kitchen unpacked, and while there was still more work to do, you felt yourself at the end of your wits. Deciding to call it quits for the night, you were reminded of just how hungry you actually were.

There was no food in the apartment and takeout was clearly the best option, but the guys still hadn’t shown their faces yet. They’d had a long enough nap; you didn’t feel bad waking them up, especially not for food.

You stopped in front of Yoongi’s door first, knocking before your hand was on the doorknob. Unsurprisingly you didn’t get a response, but you let yourself in any way.

A smile grew on your lips as your eyes landed on your best friend, curled up and asleep in his bed. He always looked so soft while asleep, and it left you with a pang in your chest.

Moving to the side of his bed, you sat down at the edge, watching him sleep for a moment longer before deciding to wake him up. “Yoongi,” you spoke softly, hand on his shoulder to give a slight shake. He grumbled and tried to hide against his pillows, but you didn’t give up.

“Yoongi,” you said his name again, but this time as a whine. Moving your hand from his shoulder to his hair, pushing some of it out of his face. “Yoongi c’mon, get up, I’m hungry.”

His eyes finally opened and your hand stilled, laughing as he scowled up at you. “Let me sleep, ___,” he whined back.

Shaking your head as you pulled your hand away from his hair you responded, “No, we need to go get food, we haven’t eaten for hours.” As your eyes met his, a pout grew on your lips. “I’m gonna starve to death and you don’t even care.”

Thinking back to what he had said earlier, you decided to throw it back in his face. “Some best friend you are.”

Despite the sleep in his eyes, you could tell he knew what you were referencing. “Drama queen,” he mumbled, reaching up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “I’d never let you starve, princess.”

“Drama queen and princess? Make up your mind, Yoongi,” you teased back.

Yoongi rolled his eyes as he stretched out in his bed, a soft groan leaving his lips. “What, should I just combine them together and just call you her majesty?”

Though you knew he was giving you shit, you tilted your head, a smile replacing the pout on your lips. “You know what? I quite like the sound of that.” You ended up sticking your tongue out at him as he scoffed.

“Of course you do, my little egomaniac.” Despite his teasing, he was looking at you with nothing but fondness in his eyes. He stretched out once more before finally sitting up in his bed, a sound similar to a whine leaving his lips as he did so.

Taking this as him officially being awake, you moved off the edge of his bed to stand up. “I’ll go get Seokjin up,” you offered.

Shaking his head, Yoongi reached out to grab your arm to keep you still in place. “Let him rest a while longer,” he spoke. “We know what he likes; we can just go get the food.”

You nodded your head at his suggestion since it didn’t exactly matter; the two of you could easily handle the task of getting dinner. “I’m gonna go get my shoes on, meet me in the living room?”

Yoongi nodded in agreement, and as you made your way out to the hall, you could see him rub his eyes once more. You almost felt bad for waking him, but it was only a Saturday anyway, you guys had all day Sunday to relax and recover from the move.

A few moments later he met you at the door, still seeming quite sleepy, which came as no surprise to you. It always took him forever to wake up, and frankly, you were surprised you had even managed to get him out of bed so quickly.

Since the sun had started to go down, it actually felt quite nice outside, the heat not nearly as overbearing as it had been early in the day.

As you walked, you linked your arm with Yoongi’s, sticking close to him as he lead the way to your guys favorite takeout place. The two of you chatted about random things, mainly what you wanted to do during the summer before classes started up again in the fall.

The conversation carried on easily, and it helped the walk go by quickly. Another bonus to the move was that you guys were so much closer to the restaurant now, the walk now taking only fifteen minutes. When the two of you walked into the restaurant, you were greeted by name from the employee in the front.

It didn’t take long to order since you guys always got the same things, anyway. While waiting for the food to be prepared, you sat at a table next to Yoongi, both of you on your phone to pass the time. A quick thirty minutes later and you were making your way back up the stairs of your apartment, Yoongi and you both carrying a bag of food.

You were slightly surprised when you pushed the front door open to see Jin sitting in the living room, eyes still filled with sleep as he sat on his phone.

“I was just about to call,” Jin spoke as he set his phone down on the coffee table, moving to stand up, but you waved him back.

“We went to get dinner,” you spoke, holding your bag of food up as if it was proof, making your way over to the living room with it. “It’ll be easiest just to eat here right now; trying to move things off the table would take forever.”

Your boys both seemed to agree with you, and after getting yourself some utensils and drinks, the three of you were sat comfortably in your new living room, more than happy to be eating in silence.

As you sat back in your chair, gaze moving between your two best friends, you couldn’t help but feel lucky. Lucky that you’d met Yoongi at such a young age and that you’d stuck together, lucky that Jin and Yoongi had been assigned roommates and that all of you got along so well. Above all, you felt more than lucky for the way your life was currently playing out, and how you couldn’t help but feel like you were about to have one of the best summers of your life.

an: pls give feedback of any kind, if y’all like it i’ll post the other chapters (though hint hint, theres two other chapters posted on my ao3. xoxo

[bussanbaby]

With the sun setting over New York, Magnus and Alec stumble through the main door, letting it click shut behind them. With his arm around Magnus’ back, Alec leads him over to the couch, supporting a big part of the warlock’s tired weight. The loft is alight with golden rays of the sun, everything so seemingly peaceful compared to what they had gone through just a couple of hours earlier.

It’s almost like the stressful day had never happened, but the lines of exhaustion, both physical and mental, are obvious in the furrow of Magnus’ brow, in the way he slumps into the soft seat with a bone-deep sigh. With his elbows set on his knees, Magnus rubs at his face with his fingers, not even paying much attention to his eye makeup, with how distracted he is.

When they returned from the core maintenance room, a little bit ruffled and still coming off the high of adrenaline, the OPS centre had been a mess - Jace held Raj pinned down against the table and a couple of other lower-rank Shadowhunters were stood by the far wall, guarded by Izzy and Clary. Alec should’ve expected the opposition to his idea if he had to be honest, given what has been said about him in the recent weeks by some of the staff  - at least everything worked out despite Raj’s interference, they’re all alive, the plan worked, and the Institute is still standing where it should be.

At first, Magnus just seemed tired, out of breath and jittery with all the magic that had been running through his fingers just moments before, but as they made their way back home, the excitement wore off, swapped for heavy limbs and a sleepy smile.

Magnus leans against the couch, letting his head fall back against the cushions, looking up at Alec who’s standing in parade rest, hands clasped behind his back.

“I don’t think I’ve taken a cab since the New York Knicks won their first NBA championship back in the seventies,” Magnus muses, his lips quirked up and eyes twinkling with what has to be a mix between nostalgia and mirth.

Alec shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the blue armchair, rolling his shoulders. He can feel a headache coming on, a slight throbbing in his temples, probably as a result of Lorenzo going on and on about every portrait of him and all the various ways each artist has captured the essence of his smile; people bickering around him all day and questioning his authority perhaps had something to do with it as well.

“What about a martini, a hot bath, and a steak, medium rare?” Alec offers, coming up behind Magnus to set his palms on his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles there.

A noise akin to a moan wrings itself out of Magnus as he pushes into Alec’s touch, eyes dipping closed with bliss.

“You read my mind, darling. But the bath comes first, I feel like I got hit by a bus.”

“Pure angelic power can do that to you,” Alec chuckles, pushing his thumb into a very tight knot of muscle in the junction of Magnus’ neck. “You sit tight, I’m gonna go and start the water.”

Alec kicks off his shoes and heads to the bathroom, turning the knobs until steam starts rising from the water and then adds in the bath soaks and essential oils. The scents mingle together, creating a lovely aroma of flowers and herbs. When he turns back, Magnus is standing at the entrance, shoulder pressed against the doorjamb, his eyes half-lidded and a soft smile on his face.

“Go ahead, I’ll be right back,” Alec says and Magnus nods at him as he starts to shrug out of his suit jacket with a grimace.

Socked feet padding across the floor, Alec beelines for the apothecary and towards the second-top shelf in the corner of the room. He’s looking for a small, jade-glass bottle with a dropper on top - he finds it way in the back, still half full.

Magnus is already halfway through unbuttoning his shirt which halts Alec’s steps as he decides to just enjoy the moment. Hearing a noise, Magnus looks up with the hint of a smirk playing on his mouth.

“Enjoying the view, are we?” he quips, making quick work of the rest of the buttons and slipping out of the shirt to hand it over to Alec.

“Don’t mind me, go on,” Alec chuckles, folding the shirt haphazardly to deposit it on top of the laundry hamper. Unsurprisingly, his gaze drifts back to the expanses of Magnus’ chest, tempting Alec to run his fingertips against Magnus’ sternum and down his stomach.

“How about you join me? The bath’s big enough for two,” Magnus proposes with feigned innocence, shrugging one shoulder as he works on undoing his pants - it’s a bit more difficult to do without magic (and when the belt buckle is in the back).

Alec holds his breath for a moment, tempted by the suggestion. He should catch up on reports for the day, consult Izzy about the demonic possession footage, but Magnus is right there to hold and the water looks so deliciously warm that he can’t help himself; he breathes out.

“I could use some down time,” Alec aims for an unaffected tone, but Magnus sees right through the facade, raising one questioning eyebrow. Alec rolls his eyes fondly. “Oh, shut it.”

Magnus breathes out a laugh as Alec steps closer to him, deft hands helping to set the buckle free and tug the belt out of the loops. This close, Alec allows himself to look, to take in every line and curve of Magnus’ body, the way the late afternoon light makes his skin glow better than any highlighter he has on his vanity.

This is not about the sexual kind of closeness, not this time - it’s about the feeling of safety, winding down in the presence of the person you trust with your life, letting the walls down, figuratively and literally at once. It’s about taking care of each other.

Magnus’ wide shoulders are slumped slightly and he seems ready to fall asleep across any horizontal surface when Alec grabs his hands gently where they hang at his sides, aware of the sore spots magic has left behind. “Take some of my strength.”

Magnus pulls his eyebrows together and tilts his head in a half-aborted headshake.

“Alexander…”

“Come on, even a little bit, just so you can get your mojo back quicker,” Alec insists, running his thumbs over the blue veins on the insides of Magnus’ wrists.

With the first touch of magic, Alec shivers as it tugs on his core - it’s not uncomfortable, per se, but it’s a strange feeling nonetheless, like an incorporeal arm reaching up along his spine, careful fingers searching his body for angelic power. By now, it has become somewhat familiar to him, the sensation of Magnus’ magic being something Alec’s soul leaps toward without a second thought.

Magnus takes a deep breath, already seeming more awake than just moments before as the energy continues to trickle between them through their linked hands. It slows to a stop and Magnus tilts his chin up to brush his lips against Alec’s. “Thank you.”

“This, as well,” Alec murmurs after they kiss, pulling the little potion bottle from his pocket and holding it up for Magnus to see.

Magnus opens his eyes, then purses his lips when he recognizes his own concoction, clearly labeled with curled handwriting.

“My rejuvenation serum? How did you know where it was?” he asks, seeming positively surprised and almost impressed, even with a task as simple as this.

“Well, I listen to you, believe it or not. Also, I spend a lot of time in the apothecary with you.”

Alec hands it over, watches Magnus uncork it and deposit two drops of it on the back of his hand before licking it off. He scrunches up as his nose at the supposedly bitter taste and Alec can’t help but smile with fondness.

“I don’t doubt that, you do tend to stare at my lips quite often.” Magnus sets the bottle aside after sealing it up and gets back to taking off his clothes without a hitch in their conversation.

So, he has noticed.

“I don’t stare, I appreciate,” Alec balks at Magnus’ words, huffing as he pulls his henley over his head, dropping it onto the floor. “And you can’t blame me, really, since they’re so lovely.”

Alec is just telling the truth as it is - he’d kiss Magnus constantly if he ever had that option. And it’s not that he doesn’t pay attention, since he always values what Magnus has to say; sometimes his eyes just drift down to simply watch his boyfriend talk, to follow the curve of his lower lip as he pouts, lost in his own thoughts, or learn over and over again how they stretch into a smile, so tantalizingly close.

Magnus pauses, fingers hooked into the hem of his boxer briefs. “But are they more exquisite than Lorenzo’s fabrics?” he teases, his voice tinted with laughter.

“Magnus, I was winging it! He didn’t exactly give me much to work with,” Alec explains as he tugs his legs free from the confines of his jeans, having to take a step to the side to prevent himself from toppling over. “Well, until he started talking about himself being used as a baby model by an artist.”

At that point, Alec was just guessing his answers - apparently he had luck on his side, since that baby looked nothing like Lorenzo himself.

“El Greco?” “Yeah, how did you know?”

Magnus stops the water before the bath fills up too much and dips his fingers in, testing the temperature. His back is turned to Alec, but he can hear the disdain in Magnus’ scoff loud and clear. “Because he tells that story to anyone who has the patience to listen.”

He does seem like the type, Alec thinks. It took them maybe twenty minutes just to go through one room and he’s not even sure how many more there were. In some sort of way, Magnus making noise saved Alec from further extensive Lorenzo Rey history lessons.

“I thought he was going to talk my ear off about all of his antiquities! Your loft isn’t modest by any chance, but Rey’s just showing off with that mansion chock full of expensive crap.”

Almost simultaneously, they both tug their underwear down and step into the water, holding onto each other for balance.

The water feels blissfully hot against Alec’s skin, washing against his calves in little waves as Magnus sits down by the more rounded edge. He motions for Alec to come closer and moves them around until Alec ends up with his back pressed against Magnus’ chest, and with curious fingers tracing paths through the dark hair on his chest.

“Oh, I know! He’s always been like that, loving any attention coming his way. He thinks he’s the Jay Gatsby of warlocks.” Magnus’ voice resonates straight through Alec’s torso and he can already feel his own stress draining away - the problems with the Institute, the Greater Demon case - nothing exists in that very moment, just Magnus as a solid weight behind him and the water around them, tinted a faint purple with lavender.

Alec imagines Lorenzo in a Gatsby get-up, having read the book back in the days when he had free time, but then another, better fitting character comes to mind. Alec smiles to himself, a laugh bubbling up in his chest at the vision of the new High Warlock in a sparkly 20s’ dress.

“In reality, he is more of a Daisy, who also needs to hang back on the hair pomade. That ponytail is slicker than his attitude.” Alec tips his head back onto Magnus’ collarbone, as Magnus laughs shamelessly at the jab, making the water ripple around them with each breath; it’s Alec’s favorite sound.

He closes his eyes for a moment, tangling his fingers with Magnus’ and pulling their hands to rest on his stomach. Then, he adds, “He is so full of himself, he didn’t even realize I was just buying you time with the compliments.”

“Such an ass. And you did so well, my dear. I’ve never heard you talk with such passion about ceilings!” Magnus nods exaggeratedly, poking fun at Alec’s ‘professional’ acting skills; for how long he’s been a Shadowhunter, anyone would think he’d get better at acting, but alas it’s never been Alec’s strong suit, leaving him slightly panicked and searching for topics to grab onto. Considering the sudden circumstances of their heist, Alec is still proud of keeping his cool long enough around that pompous buffoon.

“I had to improvise somehow, I couldn’t let him see you making faces from behind his fancy couch. But you would make an excellent spy.”

Magnus chuckles, dropping a kiss on top of Alec’s messy hair that probably still smells like sandalwood. “We should start our own detective agency - Bane & Lightwood, here at your service. For the right price, of course.”

It’s a nice thought - Alec and Magnus, working together, solving crimes and helping people in need; kind of like they do now. Maybe in the end, their lives wouldn’t turn out so differently.

“That’s our retirement plan, then.”

It’s both casual and monumental, hanging in the air between them. Magnus stills above Alec, his chin resting against Alec’s head, who can sense him tense up a bit, before relaxing back into the water.

“I’m already looking forward to it.” Magnus’ voice snags on one of the words, gaining confidence as he finishes his sentence, having made up his mind about whatever thoughts he chooses to keep private for now. “I appreciated your help today. I would rather have you safe and sound somewhere else, but you being there with me meant a lot.”

Alec is glad to see Magnus open up more about his thoughts and feelings, as it allows them to understand each other better. Sometimes it’s easier to leave certain things unspoken, but they’re trying to go against that, to keep themselves open instead, to allow themselves comfort, understanding, and honesty - the cornerstones of a relationship to outlast time itself.

“Of course. I told you, I go wherever you go and if it means into danger, then so be it. I’m not leaving your side, never again,” Alec confesses, squeezing Magnus’ fingers between his.

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” Magnus chuckles, tightening his embrace around Alec and making something warm bloom in his chest. Alec laughs as well, closing his eyes.

“Once or twice.”

[miriyos]

accidental summoning; p2/4

(part 1; will be posted on ao3 when cleaned and finished)

Sid wakes up with a black box sitting on his dresser. He doesn’t know where it came from, doesn’t know who put it in his room. He definitely knows that it isn’t his and that it’s firmly locked by a key that’s missing. There’s beautiful Cyrillic engraved all around it and when he picks it up, he surmises that it’s just big enough to fit jewelry in it

He doesn’t think there’s jewelry inside.

Evgeni later confirms his suspicions.

“Is  delicate, but don’t open it,” Evgeni says, stealing Sid’s tofu right off of the cutting board where Sid left it. The tofu is for the soup he’s making for the both of them although Evgeni told Sid long ago that demons only eat human foods for their own personal enjoyment. It’s not a necessity for a demon’s survival.

“What’s inside?” Sid asks anyway.

Evgeni shrugs. “A surprise. Don’t want to ruin it, do you?” he counters, teasing.

“No, but, I think accepting gifts from demons is typically the opposite of what humans should do. Will I owe you anything?” Sid knocks Evgeni’s hand away from the food. The demon has been sampling all of Sid’s ingredients.

“Never,” Evgeni says, sounding oddly somber. “Not unless you want to.”

“I can’t give you my soul,” Sid says quickly, not that he thinks Evgeni would ever ask for it. It’s just that Kris feels strangely about Sid’s relationship with Evgeni.

Kris isn’t as convinced that Evgeni is hanging around Sid for the best of reasons.

“You give me Tootsie’s soul?” Evgeni asks, gesturing offhandedly to the dorm’s hamster sleeping in its cage.

Naming the hamster Tootsie was their third roommate’s idea.

“What do you even do with the souls after you get them?” Sid changes the subject as he hears the apartment door lock click open. They should be more careful about what they discuss in the open but Jamie is a philosophy major. He’d probably be into it.

“Souls have different purposes. Strength, knowledge, power. It’s mostly to make sure that the debt is paid,” Evgeni explains. “It’s not often I get summoned. Bigger, older, more powerful demons have more use for souls.”

Jamie looks exhausted when he walks inside. Despite both his earphones in his ears, Sid can hear the music blaring on the other side. He waves to Sid and Evgeni, then goes to his room without stopping to talk.

“When will you tell me how old you are?” Sid asks, handing Evgeni a knife and carrots that need peeling.

“Old enough to tell you that your ancestors didn’t travel across the world for spices to not use them,” Evgeni says, poking through the sparse collection of spices in their kitchen for salt and pepper. “You might want to use.”

“You cook then.” Sid frowns a bit lopsided and halfhearted.

It’s maddenly frustrating that Evgeni does. He hip checks Sid playfully to the side, sidelining him in his own kitchen. The tofu goes back into the refrigerator for another meal and adds a second helping of meat instead.

*

Kris sets up a double date with him, Cath, and a mystery man for Sid. Sid feels apprehensive about it until Sid realizes that Kris thought things through. He picked a guy that is so blatantly Sid’s type that he does a silent doubletake, wondering how obvious he’s been in the past with the guys he’s dated.

BIg and tall, sweet, and athletic is every guy Sid has crushed on from afar. While Sid wouldn’t count those qualities as the only ones he looks for in a partner, it certainly doesn’t hurt in catching his eye.

While Luka is dreamboat, he’s lacking the same lazy posture and warm speech Sid has gotten used to sitting across from at dinner.

He still gives Luka is number anyway. Luka is intelligent, pre-med to one day become a sports psychologist, and more than willing to offer Sid assistance with his own exercise science degree.

The little jewelry box is smaller when Sid gets home, only he doesn’t really notice. The change isn’t significant enough.

*

The kinesiology midterm Sid had been stressing about for the past week results in a surprising success. The relief in instant, knowing that he has one exam result down, four more to go.

He wants to tell Evgeni but he can’t. Because Evgeni stopped showing up for his usual visits the moment Sid started studying. Moreso, around the time Kris decided to take him out on a double date.

The next time he goes out for groceries, he buys a pack of chalk and salt, intending on drawing Evgeni out himself when the demon finally decides to make his reappearance.

“Did I do something?” Sid blurts out, feeling hurt.

In a strange way, with a strange beginning, they were becoming friends, he felt.

“No,” Evgeni admits quietly.

“Then why did you suddenly stop coming? I miss you. Even if it’s easier to concentrate in Professor White’s class without you there,” Sid tries to joke.

“Me and mama think it’s better if you spend more time with human friends. Kris and Flower,” Evgeni says. “Luka,” he adds with a bitter twist.

Sid frowns. “What about Luka?”

“Nothing. Luka seem like nice, normal boy.” Evgeni doesn’t bother to keep up his usual effort to glamor his appearance as he usually does. Sid thinks Evgeni’s horns look larger than usual. His whole appearance is less human-like than Evgeni lets Sid see.

“Luka is just a friend. Kris set it up,” Sid says.

Sparks twinkle at Evgeni’s fingertips. Blue and yellow. Evgeni isn’t usually this distant.

“Was he nice? Did he pay for your meal? Pull out your chair?” Evgeni questions rapid-fire.

“Why does it matter?” Sid counters. He didn’t feel it with Luka, a spark. “I don’t think I’m going to see him again anyway.”

“Why not?” Evgeni asks, voice becoming soft.

Sid avoids looking at Evgeni, his legs curled close to his chest. Sid insisted sitting on the bed with Evgeni although they both barely fit. “He was just okay. I guess I just wanted more than that.”

*

A week later, Evgeni tells Sid the truth.

“I’m think Kris important to you and I make Kris uncomfortable so Luka could make Kris more comfortable.” Evgeni chooses to look smaller today, sipping away at the smoothie Sid bought him guiltily.

“You were Luka,” Sid asks to confirm.

Evgeni nods. “I thought you’d like.”

“I do. I like you.”

Evgeni smiles, and for the first time shows Sid that his real skin color is blue.

*

Kris looks somewhat relieved, if not a bit shocked at first, to catch Sid making out with Luka on the couch a day later.

He’s less thrilled to see Evgeni poking through their fridge for Sid’s special brand of almond milk.

*

After hearing back that another internship decided to go with another candidate, Sid goes back to his dorm to find a hellhound gnawing on a chew toy in the center of his bedroom.

“Don’t worry,” Evgeni says reassuringly, “Jeffrey sweet hellhound. He’s very calm, doesn’t bite unless I’m tell him.”

Sid smiles nervously regardless, reaching out for the dog that is even bigger than he is. Obediently, Jeffrey keeps still so Sid can pet his big head, his hind leg kicking as his tail thumps heavily against Sid’s bedpost.

“Feel better?” Evgeni asks, moving to stand behind Sid, wrapping his arms around Sid’s waist.

“Yeah,” Sid sighs heavily, leaning back against Evgeni’s chest.

The box on Sid’s dresser glows ever slightly as it becomes bigger. The Cyrillic inscriptions grow stronger.

*

Unsurprisingly, Evgeni’s mama doesn’t take too kindly to Sidney monopolizing so much of her son’s time. She doesn’t come to see him directly but Sid feels an extra presence lingering around him and later Evgeni confirms Sidney’s suspicions to be true.

“She not understand but she’ll come around, just like how Anna gave Sergei voice in exchange for his child,” Evgeni says, hopeful as he cups Sid’s face in his hands and kisses his forehead.

“How could he give up his child?” Sid asks, feeling the two aren’t one in the same.

Evgeni smiles. “He do for love. They raise the baby together with love.”

“Then why the price? If they were going to raise the baby together, why did he need to give her the child first?”

“Anna needed contract. We can’t just do as we please. We self-regulate like mortals do. She give up piece of herself to give to him, to give him voice. Is like equivalent exchange.” Evgeni hugs Sid closer, carding his fingers through Sid’s hair.

Sid wraps his arms around Evgeni’s waist, feeling the demon’s too-hot body through his clothes. He thinks he understands, even if he doesn’t like it.

“I don’t want to think about Anna and Sergei,” Evgeni says much like he’s reading Sid’s mind. “Let’s think about other things.”

Careful is the way Evgeni always begins to kiss Sid. Always slow and a touch hesitant, like he’s asking for permission. Sid is very much the opposite. Demanding and clawing for more closeness, like he can’t stand the mere thought of being apart. Sid sucks on Evgeni’s bottom lip, tugging with his teeth, as he tries to move them backwards toward the bed.

Sid enjoys being on top, having the power to grind his hips down, and rut against Evgeni until he can feel the demon hard against his thigh. It’s great because Evgeni likes to grab at Sid’s ass, squeezing, and pulling Sid down against him.

Evgeni loves the way he can put his hands behind his head and watch Sid tug his shirt over his head. The little strip tease is perfect in a way that Evgeni will replay this moment over again and again in his head. That patience doesn’t extend to when all their clothes are gone. Evgeni gets a bit lost in the moment, wanting to kiss every part of Sid’s bare skin, trapping Sid’s body against his tight against the mattress.

There are plenty of marks littered all around Sid’s neck the next day that Kris teases Sidney about fondly. Nobody told him that Luka was such a possessive bastard.

It becomes their little secret.

*

Sid slips to Flower that he’s been seeing Evgeni when he should have been using Luka’s name.

“So you’re dating two guys at once?” Flower asks, non judgemental, but confused. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I’m not. I’m only dating Evgeni,” Sid tries to clarify. He can’t exactly tell his best friend that Evgeni is a demon. Kris knows, but that’s only because they were together when Sid summoned him. “Kris only thinks I’m dating Luka.”

“Do I want to know why you’re hiding that from him?”

Sidney pauses, taking his time to respond a slow, “No.”

“How dramatic is he going to be about it when he finds out, on a scale of one to 10?”

“Eleven.”

Flower laughs, nodding in compliance. “Your secret is safe with me. But I want to be there when Kris finally finds out the truth.”

*

Even though Sid can’t read it, he lets Evgeni mark him carefully in black ink a single Cyrillic word. It glows faintly around the edges before setting into his skin, like a painless tattoo. For protection, Evgeni calls it, despite Sid not knowing what he might need protection from.

The mark makes Sidney’s whole body feel warm and tingly. He shivers in Evgeni’s hold and kisses him when Evgeni rubs his arms to make the goosebumps go away.

Kris ends up pointing out the mark as they’re studying over lunch. He knows without saying who the mark came from.

“I thought Evgeni stopped coming around,” Kris says, dragging his eyes along the slope of Sid’s neck. There’s at least three hickies there that he knows of. Evgeni really enjoys marking him up, only Kris thinks the hickies are from Luka.

Sid slides his sleeve over the mark. A strange part of him wanted Kris to see it. He liked other people seeing it too. It looks like a normal tattoo but he knows where it came from. He knows loosely what it means.

“You only assumed he did,” Sid answers. “He never stopped, even when Luka came around.”

“Luka,” Kris echos thoughtfully. “Do you — Sid, Evgeni is Luka. But … you knew that already.”

“Evgeni is harmless. I get why you might think he’s dangerous but he’s not. He’s a really good guy.” Sid defends.

“Guy? He’s not even human. He’s a demon. We didn’t even think they existed at the beginning of the semester. What if he’s slowly sucking out your soul?” Kris leans across the table, whispering low since they’re in the middle of the library.

“Evgeni wouldn’t do that,” Sid says wholeheartedly. On his wrist, the tattoo glows on his skin. It doesn’t show through the black cotton material.

Kris looks at Sid carefully. “I won’t be able to change your mind? There’s probably, like, ten thousand guys on this campus and you found the one that isn’t actually a person.”

“I know, but just try to get to know him. You’ll like him.” Sid encourages.

Evgeni really isn’t that different. Sure, he has a few physical differences. Sid can look past those. He usually does, since Evgeni tries to hide his natural form. He knows strongly that he should be more afraid of Evgeni and what he can do. What he probably has done. But Evgeni has been nothing but a steady presence to anchor him.

The most unlikely of friends.

“As long as you know what you’re doing,” Kris say unconvincingly.

*

A man follows Sid to class for three days straight before Sid realizes it’s no longer a coincidence and more like a pattern. Sid thinks that the stranger could at least pretend to be subtle about it. Not that Evgeni ever was and Sid let Evgeni follow him around just fine before.

It continues until Evgeni notices. He pauses mid-sentence while explaining the art behind a tasteful sacrifice altar when he sees the stranger.

“Sasha,” he sighs, then stomps off to grab the other man by the ear, dragging him back to the table where he left Sid sitting confused.

“You know him?” Sid asks carefully.

“I do,” Evgeni confirms. “I’m thought Sasha was smarter than to follow me.”

“I just wanted to see,” Sasha says apologetically. His horns appear more curved and his ears are pointed, twitching as Evgeni scolds him. “You been keeping human to yourself and I was curious. He’s so small and cute, Zhenya. You should share.”

Evgeni’s lip curls. “No,” he replies forcefully. “You don’t need Sid. You have Nicky.”

“But Nephilim travel so much, trying to find the troublemakers. Nicky never have time for me,” Sasha complains.

“That’s why you don’t bond with Nephilim,” Evgeni says.

Sasha laughs, replying in a sing-song tone of voice, “Pot calling kettle.”

Using his strength he rarely shows Sidney, Evgeni pushes Sasha away with one palm to the other’s face, sending his friend staggering backwards on his feet until he falls onto the ground. “I’m sorry. Not know Sasha going to bother you. We ditch him now, have more private time later?” Evgeni asks, sitting back down across from Sid, putting his hand over Sid’s.

Sid thinks he sees claws but then they’re gone. Sid is never allowed to look at Evgeni’s real form for too long.

“Yeah,” Sid agrees, his cheeks flushed.

Sasha whistles low and long. “Have nice time! Tell me later!”

Evgeni shakes his head, trying to apologize to Sid when he doesn’t really have to.

“It’s fine,” Sid says. “I’m just glad that it wasn’t someone stalking me. I was starting to get worried that I was being followed around.”

“You won’t,” Evgeni reassures. His hand grabs Sid’s wrist briefly, his thumb brushing over the mark he left there, then settles by intertwining their fingers. “If you worry, you tell me.”

Sid agrees. He thinks he feels something inside him get stronger.